


Qui Vivra Verra

by Yilena



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fantasy, Magic, Minor Character Death, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 21:19:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13667496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yilena/pseuds/Yilena
Summary: From being hailed as a magical prodigy, Marinette grows up isolated from others her age. Following her uncle's suggestion, she dons a mask and enters a world of competitive anonymous duelling, earning herself a mysterious best friend along the way. AU.





	Qui Vivra Verra

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KawaiiKekeChan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KawaiiKekeChan/gifts).



> Hi, Kira! Although I tried to combine all three of your prompts into one here, I think I failed on the Chat/Mari pairing since it's not really a romantic scene. I hope you enjoy this regardless. This is a _Harry Potter_ AU without some of the main annoying things of that series: magic doesn't interfere with electricity, there's no separate fashion for wizards, no actual _Harry Potter_ characters, and the killing curse doesn't exist. There'll be more changes that I won't write them down here, but be prepared for them. There will be scenes at _Beauxbatons_ , but not _Hogwarts_ or the other schools. I will not be including the names of any spells—so no reason to look them up—and I won't mention anything that has to be researched beforehand.
> 
> \- ̗̀art ̖́- [aoirin](http://aoirin.tumblr.com/tagged/qui-vivra-verra).

_Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

When she was four, happily clapping along with the rest of her family as her mother blew out the candles on her birthday cake, Marinette's magic manifested for the first time in the form of confetti spraying out of her hands; glitter and paper floated down around them, sticking to the icing of the cake and settling in her grandmother's hair.

As she laughed and tried to reach up and collect the falling decorations, her father had dropped to his knees beside her, hugging her tightly as a soft kiss was applied to her head.

Magic was explained to her after that. Marinette learned that the section of the city that they lived in was only accessible by those with magic—that the entrances were disguised as walls to those that didn't have the right genes—and that the children she sometimes saw at the playground were the same as her. She learned that when she reached ten, she'd be able to send applications to different magical schools of her choosing; that she could look through the different brochures, visit the websites to see what they each had to offer, and decide what was best for her with the help of her parents.

Her mother told her of the different spells that were used in their everyday life. From the shining gleam on the windows, to the clothing that had no wrinkles, and even the icing from their cakes that changed flavour depending on the taster's preferences—she learned about them all, writing them down in her messy scrawl in a notebook she kept on her daily.

At six, after her dark-coloured hair had grown down her waist overnight from her admiring an illustration in a book the previous day, Marinette started lessons with a recommended tutor. As a curious child, she naturally gravitated towards the given information, happily absorbing it and writing it down in the multiple notebooks that started to collect on her shelves.

Her parents encouraged her interests, urging her to follow her desires rather than go and play with the children that ran around outside, and it was due to that that she searched through the shelves of the library on the weekends when her parents had a day off from their jobs.

Within the magical area they lived in, their home was located along the main row of shops. She learned that it was popular, as it was the one of two magical shopping centres in their country, and it was due to that that crowds surrounded the cobbled streets outside, and eager customers came through the doors of her family's pâtisserie, eager to taste the products they had to offer.

By the time she was seven, they'd earned mentions in popular magazines, had been interviewed by reporters that were trying to understand the boom in their business—the reporter had even kneeled down and lowered their microphone for Marinette to talk into it—which resulted in a large demand for their services. Her parents woke up before dawn to prepare their food, spending hours even with the help of magic.

“You can't do everything with magic, sweetheart,” her father had said, ruffling her hair when she'd questioned why they disappeared for so long. “Working hard goes a long way—maybe someday you'll understand that, too.”

When her uncle came to visit, staying in one of their spare bedrooms for a few months, she learned about duelling. He was famous for it; travelling to different countries, entering tournaments, competitions, and fighting to keep the titles that he'd earned. Marinette was wide-eyed and amazed as she watched the videos of her uncle performing, seeing the bright colours of magic across the screen as he fought others flawlessly.

She was enamoured.

Muggles, as the non-magical were called, weren't all bad. Marinette attended a nearby primary school for a few years—not the full amount that the muggle children had to endure—to learn the basics of educations, as she wouldn't be able to receive her wand until she was eleven, preparing to attend a magical school.

With proof of tutors or an upcoming school, that was the only legal way for a witch or wizard to acquire their wand, the one way for their magic to be smoothly manifested without problems. Young children, such as she, had spurts of accidental magic from their body adjusting to the change; it came in a plethora of ways, each that couldn't be controlled, no matter how much it was researched.

Marinette's magic tended to be bright and flashy, she found out. When a muggle child had pushed her over in playground during their break, she'd wiped at her tears while sniffing loudly, barely paying attention as the puddle that they'd just walked over exploded, splashing water everywhere with a loud sound.

She withdrew from the school a few weeks after that, though she wasn't reprimanded.

After her tutors had gone for the day, and her uncle was sitting around the house, relaxing from practising when she was studying, she toddled up to him with wide eyes and asked for tips and tricks. He was glad to indulge her, even letting her sit beside him and grasp onto his sleeve as he explained the rules of duelling, even using their television to show her the videos that he was referencing.

Other than her uncle, her family was filled with chefs of all different kinds. They owned restaurants in different countries, some with cafés instead, and her mother had surprised everyone by marrying a French wizard by the name of Tom Dupain—her broad-shouldered father who towered above everyone in their family—which resulted in them opening their pâtisserie together, rather than leaning towards savoury foods, as everyone else did.

Marinette enquired about her heritage through her mother and her visiting family members, learning why her eyelids had no creases on them, or why her irides were the pretty shade of blue like her father's, instead of the deep brown like everyone else's. She was allowed to flick through the family's book—named _Cheng Spellbook—_ a tome that was given and inherited when mothers passed away. It was there that she saw the different spells for cooking—as that was what her family had been most known for, for centuries—and that was what had given her the idea to perfect her father's.

Her father's side of the family were deceased, after all. She hadn't been able to meet any other members with blue-coloured eyes, but that didn't seem to make him sad.

“I've still got you, sweetheart,” he'd uttered, hugging her tightly.

With that in mind, she scribbled in her notebook, trying to perfect the sweet-focused spells that her parents used each day. She used the _Cheng Spellbook_ for reference, the books that she'd checked out from the library for research, and it was after three months of working until she told off for having her lamp on at night that she wondered whether she'd made a discovery.

She knocked on her parents' bedroom door, trying not to laugh as she heard them moan as they got out of bed. It was dark outside, she knew, but she was so _excited_ to see whether it would work.

“Marinette?” her mother questioned, peering down at her curiously. “What's wrong, honey?”

When she asked them to perform a spell that late at night, they didn't question her too much. It was a somewhat normal occurrence; if Marinette awoke and couldn't remember the name of one, bothered so much that she couldn't fall back asleep, she'd often woken up at least one parent to ask her question.

It was only when she said it had to be tested on food that they sent her to bed again, insisting that they'd do it in the morning. So, it was with messy hair and her pyjamas still on that she waited early in the kitchen for her parents to appear, causing them to shriek in surprise when they turned the lights on.

They only scolded her for a few minutes before starting their normal routine, and Marinette managed to hold up her notes and explain the spell to her mother, convincing her to try it out. The taste-altering spell that they'd used had only worked on specific icing, as they hadn't been able to make it work for the cakes, pastries, or anything else thus far.

When she bit into the plain-looking cake and tasted an explosion of flavour, it was her turn to shriek in surprise.

The spell made their business even more famous than before; with the new spell—that her parents were more than happy to tell anyone that enquired that their little daughter had created it—came recognition for her spellwork and intelligence, something that she hadn't thought about before. Marinette's tutors were fascinated by her notebooks, even more so when she started to edit other kitchen-orientated spells by her ninth birthday, and she was considered a prodigy at that age by a large number of officials and magical education employees that came to visit and allow her to take tests.

It was because of that that when she turned ten, she opted not to send out applications for schools. Marinette chose to stay at home, in her beloved pâtisserie, working with the things that she was enthusiastic about and receive her education from tutors. It wasn't something that was done often; for the past century, attending the different boarding schools had been dubbed mandatory, as it allowed teachers to keep an all-hour watchful eye over the students and make sure their magic was developing well.

Her uncle continued to teach her about duelling—something she was still very much interested in—and he was the one that took her into the wand-shop within their shopping district to receive her first wand. There were tales about the different woods and the ingredients that were kept inside to act as the core, some superstitious and others that attempted to tell the future by the selected products.

When confetti poured out of the top of the smooth wand, reminiscent to her first spell, Marinette's smile was blinding.

As children weren't allowed to use magic until they were eleven—as it was theorised that their bodies couldn't handle the strain—her parents held onto her wand until her birthday in the late summer. Marinette begrudgingly continued with her studies, diligently watching her uncle's performance that was broadcast on the television, even writing down the techniques he used and how he could've done better versus his opponent.

The first spell she willingly used was the one she'd first invented—she charmed a cake to taste however she wanted.

The years passed by smoothly; she was regarded a genius for her use of magic at a young age—even had an article written about her, which was framed on her living room wall, to her embarrassment—and she continued to study at home and at the local library, sometimes visiting her tutor's homes for a change of scenery. She was more than happy to arrive with baked goods in a little box with her family's logo on them whenever she arrived at someone's doorstep, and she began to suspect that at least one tutor held their session there for that very reason.

A few weeks before her thirteenth birthday, her uncle dropped by with an excited smile and after gaining the permission of her parents, she was whisked away to watch a duelling tournament live. She was wide-eyed and awed, clutching her uncle's sleeve as she excitedly pointed out the different techniques, and he was utterly patient as he urged on her enthusiasm, even asking for her opinion on the spells that were used.

“They were okay, I guess,” she murmured as they trailed outside with the crowd. “A lot of them were flashier than needed—it would've been better to focus on incapacitating their opponent, rather than pleasing the audience.”

He laughed, a wonderful sound that she adored to hear. “Yes, that's exactly right. That's a big problem in higher ranked tournaments, too.”

And, somehow, that developed into him asking whether she'd wanted to fight.

“Of course!” Marinette responded, hands moving to emphasise her words from her enthusiasm. “I'd love to, even though I'd be restricted to age appropriate spells.”

That was when he revealed that there was another type of competition, one that was becoming popular recently; contestants would wear a mask that was enchanted to hide their identity, making it so facial features couldn't be recognised while it was worn. They would duel each other anonymously, and be judged without their identities being known. It was gaining recognition for the fair judging, and for the different age ranges that were available.

For her thirteenth birthday, her uncle's present to her was a red-coloured mask, that covered her eyes and cheekbones, dotted with black spots.

Her parents weren't happy at first. They were worried that she'd hurt herself—even though there were nurses on the sidelines, ready to heal any injuries that were too severe—since she hadn't duelled with another child her age before, but she was ecstatic. Marinette entered a competition available to anyone under the age of seventeen (starting from eleven, of course), giving herself a suitable alias of Ladybug.

After having her tutors insist that she would be fine, and that she could fend her herself against older opponents, Marinette found herself clad in a sleeveless red-coloured dress that had slits on either side of her thighs, and black shorts underneath. It was made by her grandmother—who was happily escorting her, and recording the duel for her parents to watch later—and Marinette had sobbed the first time she'd seen it.

As she sat backstage with the other contestants, foot tapping nervously against the floor, she realised that she was the shortest one there. The ages were supposed to rage from eleven to seventeen, but the closest to her height was almost a full head taller than her, and that caused her to start to worry. It was the summer time, before students disappeared to schools to start their new years, so it was the perfect time for a competition.

What if she wasn't good enough? Marinette didn't have a lot to compare herself to; she'd only studied videos, and hadn't had another student to compete with for her education. For all she knew, the ones that she was with all knew each other—

That would've made the masks pointless, then. They were there to make it so after looking away from the figure for more than an hour, it was impossible to recall the colour of their eyes, or even the curl of their lips when they smiled. And while looking at them, it was charmed so no one could connect her appearance to her regular one, not without her consent. It was perfect for short performances, and was a spell often used by celebrities that wanted peace when they went outside.

When she'd put it on in front of her grandmother, Marinette had to whisper into her ear that it was her. It seemed silly, but seeing the blinding smile that appeared on the aged woman's face was worth it.

“First time?”

She didn't jump surprisingly. Marinette looked up curiously to see someone standing before her; their mask was black, covering their eyebrows and went down to the tip of their nose. The blond hair that brushed against the top of the mask was blond, and she quickly realised that it was the person that she'd look at before when trying to assume the ages—they were the second smallest, next to her.

“Is it that obvious?” she asked softly, reaching up to fiddle with one of her buns.

They grinned. “No, it's not that,” they denied, shaking their head. “It's just that we're a pretty close group, you know? Well, no—it's not like we know each other out of the masks, but I meant we've been together since this started two years ago.”

“Oh.” She didn't know what to say to that. “I thought this was getting popular?”

And when she realised that that could've been taken offensively, she quickly placed a hand over her mouth, mortified.

To her surprise, they laughed; it was a slightly breathy sound. “We've kind of intimated anyone else from joining, unfortunately. I'm glad we've got some new meat—I'm Chat Noir, by the way.” They offered a hand out to her, the leather fingerless gloves clearly on display.

“Ladybug,” Marinette offered, shaking his hand gingerly. She didn't have gloves or anything like that; the most she had was a strap to hold her wand on her thigh, that was hidden by her dress. “I'm—are you a boy?”

“Right, I forgot how confusing this can be.” They gestured to the mask, laughing again. “Yeah, I am. There's four other girls here, while the rest are boys, by the way. At least five girls aged up and left us this year.”

Chat Noir—a boy with blond hair and green eyes behind the mask, his other features hard to tell—introduced her to the other contestants, all of which were friendly. None of them offered her taunts or mean words to try and spook her, and it was only when the announcer called out loudly that the matches would be starting soon that she had time to sit down by herself again.

Most of them were older, definitely. She could hear it in their voices, and was able to tell from their bodies, that they had a few years on her and Chat Noir. Yet, the blond-haired male was a ball of energy, bouncing around the room and jumping into different conversations, even pulling her along by the arm with him at one point. He seemed determined to have her befriend everyone around, even ushering her along to stand together and watch the match that was happening backstage from a television screen.

Her heart was beating fast as she watched the different moves, itching to reach for a notebook to jot down the strategies, but all she had as her belongings was the clothing and the wand strapped to her thigh. Her parents had been worried about the potential of being mugged—even at a _competition—_ so her grandmother was holding onto their money and the identification that they'd had to use to get within the arena.

She'd been registered as Ladybug once her paperwork had gone through and had been confirmed. The laminated card that she had to show to the security had felt professional and sleek, something that she'd only ever had to use for access to the library before.

When her first match came, she tripped up the steps to the arena. Marinette had flushed beneath her mask, aware that that it was visible on her pale skin, but she stood up confidently and brushed the dirt from her clothes, as though nothing had happened. There had been a few laughs from the crowd—a blur of faces which she was determined not to look at—but she ignored them, instead staring across the stage where a lanky male was standing patiently, his arms crossed against his chest.

She was sure she barely came up to his chest.

After a countdown from the announcer, they had to bow to each other respectfully, a tradition that had continued on for centuries. Marinette had seen various types through the years, but stuck with the one that her uncle had taught her.

It stood out from the generic one her opponent used—along with her outfit, it honoured the heritage that she'd learned from her family.

For her first fight, she thought she'd done well, truly. Marinette had rolled onto the floor to avoid brightly-coloured spells that were soaring her way, the pulse of her fast-beating heart echoing in her head, effectively drowning out the sound of the crowd. Scraps had appeared on her knees from her movements, a large cut had appeared on her forehead beneath her bangs, and her dress was torn on her side, but the sight of seeing her opponent's wand falling to the ground had her chest filling with hope.

She was able to summon it towards herself before he could lunge for it.

It landed in her hand, the cold wood welcoming and smooth, and she exhaled loudly.

Although she lost her next fight, making it so she was out of the competition, she was overjoyed that she'd managed to beat a sixteen-year-old. Her grandmother had shared her enthusiasm, too, after the winner had been declared—one of the remaining older females—visibly cheering from the crowd, not giving away her identity by approaching like some of the other contestants families had.

After the competitors had all fought twice, it was up to the judges to rank the top three participants. From what she could tell, it was usually those that had won twice, or if they'd lost, it was if they had used impressive spells that hadn't been anticipated.

A few had removed their masks after it was finished—which ruined the point of them, in her opinion—and she, Chat Noir, and six others were the ones that kept them on. The contestants, all of which found it easy to refer to her as Ladybug after hours of being together, had conversed as they were watching the different matches together, which had helped her feel comfortable. After she'd walked off of the stage when she'd been defeated, she'd gotten good-hearted pats on the back and quick hugs; friendly interactions she hadn't expected.

When she met her grandmother outside, the huge smile she received was more than worth it.

-x-

Her parents were overjoyed with her, too. They praised her relentlessly for her performance for the two duels, even asking whether she'd like to hire another tutor to help her with duelling after they'd seen the competition mentioned online and in the papers.

Marinette had tentatively asked whether her uncle could do it.

It was a surprise when he accepted the possible, offering to have her attend to the different tournaments that he entered around the world to watch him perform every few months or so. She was ecstatic with it, and with her parents full support, she was allowed to focus on duelling in her free time from her studies.

From being hailed as a child prodigy, the officials that came around at the end of each year to assess her performance—much like exams that students would take a school, except she was the only one there—seemed to always be impressed if she showed an aptitude for spells that were meant for those older than she was. When they were shown the various spells she'd tweaked and perfected for the kitchen, they always asked whether she'd like to professionally publish it in spellbooks around the world, allowing her name to be recorded as the creator.

As always, she said she'd think about it. Her parents had tried to encourage her to do so, to make sure that others knew of her creations, but she was worried that other bakeries and cafés alike would recreate it and cause their business to boom, harming her own. It was a silly worry, she knew, one that her mother kissed her forehead and told her was worth it since others would feel the rush of magic and know that it was from her.

When there was a break from school in the winter—the only one until the year finished for a summer—she'd signed up for the anonymous duelling competition again. The one for seventeen-year-olds and under ran twice a year in the opposite seasons, so it wouldn't class with school terms.

Still thirteen, she parted from their uncle while clad in the same red-coloured dress with the slits on the side, and the mask that had been gifted to her. She'd tied her hair into the two buns again, complete with two ribbons that were charmed to stay on it—a gift from her grandmother, who'd thought that she needed something else to add to her outfit.

When she walked backstage after showing her identification, she jumped when there was a call of “Ladybug!”

“I—hi?” she stuttered, wide-eyed as she looked at the waving figures around her that were lounging on the various chairs, none looking too nervous.

“We didn't think you were coming back,” Chat Noir remarked, gesturing with his gloved hand for her to sit down beside him.

It was strange, really. After they'd parted she'd had trouble remembering any of their features, but she could recall the fully black-coloured outfit that the friendly male had been wearing. She knew that he was wearing the same because of that; from the tight long-sleeved shirt to the trousers that were made soft-looking material, but still weren't baggy. She'd had trouble remembering the blond hair or green eyes, but now that she was looking at him—and the others—it was as though a memory was appearing before her eyes.

She tucked the stray hairs behind her ear. “I had fun before.”

They were as friendly as before. Marinette found herself nibbling on food that was on a table backstage, and she found out that back in the first year, the contestants had been the ones to supply the food and drink in a small building, one that the judges had to magically enhance due to the poor state. The budding popularity had resulted in sponsors and interest of channels wanted to record the duels, all of which had caused the quality to improve in the three years that it had been running.

Marinette won her first match again, but it was against one of the older females that time. She surprised them by rolling forward to avoid their spell, landing herself in front of her opponent, and the dark-haired female had promptly lifted her wand and sprayed confetti in the older girl's face, catching her off guard. Marinette was able to disarm her and catch the falling wand, a triumphant grin on her face.

Watching the matches between was filled with nerves and tapping feet—others were doing it, too, which made her feel better—and she watched the duels with wide eyes. The nurse hadn't needed to patch her up, but she'd still received a check-up prior to the competition, to prove that she was physically well.

When her second match happened, there was blood and a shriek of pain. She hadn't intended to trip them over, not really; Marinette had transfigured the ribbon that she'd untied from her hair, turning it into a large rock in the midst of dodging. It was a technique that her uncle had dutifully taught her over the months together, telling her it was best to catch her opponents unaware, and it had resulted in them falling over and causing scarlet-coloured liquid to drip from their nose.

She didn't stop, though. When they'd recovered, she'd suffered a dislocated left arm and almost dropped her wand from the pain. Blinking rapidly to fight back the tears from the sudden pain, Marinette was able to win the second fight due to changing her ribbon into an explosion of flour, similar to the confetti that she'd used before.

When the judges called out the top three, giving their reasons for their combined choices, she wasn't surprised that she didn't place.

Backstage, she wiped the sweaty hair from her face as the nurse mended her arm, healing the bruises that were bound to appear, and fixing the cuts that had tarnished her pale skin. Her skin felt prickly and warm from the treatment, and she only looked up when someone came to stand in front of her.

“Hey,” Chat Noir greeted, mask still on as he grinned. “You disappeared so quickly last time, I thought we wouldn't see you.”

She blinked. “Am I missing something?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, nodding his head with a serious expression. “We usually have dinner afterwards—I got nominated to invite you, since you seem to like me best.”

That was a surprise. Chat Noir had been the first to approach her, after all, and he seemed to be the closest to her age physically, so it made sense why they'd chosen him. “I—are you sure?” she stuttered, suddenly feeling shy. It wasn't often that she spent time with others her age, not outside of sitting together at the library. “It's—my uncle's waiting for me.”

“Oh, that's fine,” the blond-haired male replied easily, shrugging his shoulders slightly. “If you're coming in the summer, just remember for then, okay? Everyone wants to get to know you outside of the whole nervous and jittery backstage space.”

She licked her lips. “Okay.”

“Great.” He beamed at her with what seemed to be a genuine smile—except it was hard to tell when she had problem noticing the colour of his eyelashes, or whether his cheeks were smooth or blemished with acne. “I'll see you next year, Ladybug. Have a good time at school.”

As much as she wanted to say that she didn't go to school, she could only nod before he started to walk away. Marinette thanked the nurse for her help, waved at the other contestants on the way past (a few had their masks off again, though the majority didn't), and met up with her uncle a short walk away, beaming brightly as he ruffled her hair.

-x-

The next time officials came to oversee the results of her exams, Marinette took up their offer to publish her spell in books. It earned her money that went to her private account—which she didn't have to touch, but her parents insisted on getting her one—and recognition came with it, resulting in some of the crowd that came through the busy doors of the shop to be there to attempt to interview her, attempting to learn more about the intelligent child that had managed to be approved not to attend school.

She was shy and quick to stutter when she was nervous. When she was alone, she grew frustrated quickly when she couldn't replicate what she had in her head, and that often resulted in silencing charms placed about her bedroom when she was experimenting with spells, so she wouldn't disturb the rest of the house, let alone the shop below.

At fourteen, Marinette had started to hit puberty late. Her grandmother altered her dress to fit her growing figure, teaching her the spells as she did so, and she wondered whether she was missing out on socialising with other children her age. It was due to that that the next time she saw one of her tutors—her favourite one, with his broad shoulders and surly expression, despite how kind and patient he was with her—she asked whether she could meet another student he helped during the summer.

Rich families often employed tutors when their children were home for the break of summer, and a few even splurged for the short winter break, too. She'd heard tales about the different children that they taught, often in comparison to her own skills, so it was because of that that she chose the one that had intrigued her most.

She met Chloé Bourgeois on a weekday.

Although they were meant to be the same age, when she was sitting down beside her in the lavish living room that was decorated with obvious wealth, she couldn't help but compare their figures. Chloé was tall, had golden-coloured hair that reached her waist, and their irides were close to each other's in colour; Chloé's were just a bit brighter, and her skin was slightly tanned, making it so they stood out.

“This is boring,” Chloé announced after they'd been awkwardly sat beside each other for almost ten minutes, sipping from their mugs. “Want to go to my room and blow up some stuff? I learned the spell last week.”

It was the start of a beautiful friendship.

Chloé was often sarcastic, had a sharp sense of humour, and she was quick to retort when she didn't agree with someone's views. They grew close immediately after Marinette had corrected the blonde's wand movement when trying to destroy her hated curtains, and from then on, they messaged each other daily.

When Marinette had finished with her tutors, she kissed her parents on the cheek and travelled through fireplace—a old and traditional way of travel that was instantaneous, and had travel-houses scattered throughout the country to act as stations, much like with trains—to arrive at Chloé's home. She was either welcomed with a tight hug or a reprimand for her clothing, something that she'd never cared much for. With Chloé's loud opinions, though, she was dragged shopping throughout the cobbled streets of the shopping district, even visiting the other centre across the country for the first time.

With the summer drawing to a close, she found herself in her sleeveless red dress, hair in buns with ribbons in them once again, but she'd bought black fingerless gloves to add to the outfit. The competition had garnered more attention that year, resulting in a fancier building and stage, and the furniture backstage was comfier, too. There were cameras scattered around the room, ready to capture the duels that were about to take place, and there was a large screen hanging from the ceiling to show who the current competitors were, including the alias names that they'd chosen.

“Ladybug!” she heard as soon as she'd settled down in a seat.

Marinette beamed, waving shyly as the others came inside, sitting around her and chattering about their time since they'd been apart. It was clear that a few of them knew each other—other than revealing their faces at the end—but they didn't pressure anyone else to reveal their identities.

There were new faces that year, too. One was clearly young, smaller than Marinette had been her first time, but the rest seemed to be within the later years.

She didn't see Chat Noir until the first duellists were called out. She watched him on the stage, producing a powerful shield that didn't falter against his opponent's spell—it was a shield that hadn't held the previous year, so it was clear that he'd improved himself, even more so when he'd found himself victorious.

After he'd won, Marinette was able to watch three more matches until her name was called.

Her opponent was the smallest newcomer, and she felt bad when the duel was over in under a minute. It was clear that it was one of their first duels—they'd entered despite being in their first year of school, but they had a smile on their face despite the defeat.

As there was a lot more duels that time, the hours dragged on. One of the duels lasted for over half an hour before it ended in exhaustion and defeat, paired with a lot more blood than the younger fights had, and she noticed that there was an increase in the audience, too. The cameras filmed every fight, and an announcer called our their chosen names, all of which received cheers from the crowd.

It was starting to feel less like practising and more professional the more she visited. She wondered where it would be in a couple of years from that moment; Chat Noir had mentioned that it had only been running for three years at that point, and there was already a significant difference that she could tell.

To her shock, Marinette won her second duel, too. It ended with two of her fingers being broken, and a cut on her cheek beneath her mask, but she felt numb from the adrenaline as she caught her opponent's wand in her hand.

She didn't make it into the top three, but Chat Noir did.

He energetically waved to her backstage, grinning widely as he called out, “You're coming tonight, right?”

Feeling shy from the eyes that glanced her way, Marinette nodded her head. The nurse had already patched her up, and since her clothing hadn't been ripped that time—rare, as even her first time had ended up with ruined material that had to be mended—she didn't have to worry about being presentable.

The group that was going out for dinner together were the ones that stayed behind. The shortest contestant had disappeared through the doors as soon as they could, so they weren't joining, and it was clear that the newer ones had already agreed to prior engagements, which left her trailing through the streets heading towards a restaurants with a group that she recognised fully. They'd always been kind to her, even more so with every time she appeared.

“Do you always go here?” Marinette questioned, peering up at the large and flashing sign up above them.

The tallest of their group, a male who went by the name L'Imposteur, held the door open for everyone. “No, we usually go to wherever looks the least busy.”

Chat Noir hummed and chimed in, “The dinner we had the night of your first competition ended up with us being kicked out.”

As it turned out, it was because they were just as energetic off of the stage. Marinette cheeks were hurting from smiling by the time their food arrived, and she ended up choking while sipping her drink at one point due to a crude joke.

They were nice, truly. They made sure she felt included, and the inside jokes were explained to her when she kept to herself and didn't ask for an explanation herself. It was—it was _wonderful_ , something that she didn't experience often. Other than her friendship with Chloé, that was a recent development, she hadn't had too many close friends over the years. Sometimes, she'd spoken to other children at the library or when they were waiting while their parents were in the queue to her family's shop, but that was it.

“Ladybug, help me out here,” Chat Noir complained, emphasising his words by moving his hands.

She blinked. “Sorry, I wasn't listening. What's going on?”

“They're trying to say I must be a nuisance in class since I'm able to win against them!” he pointed towards the ones sitting opposite him, narrowing his eyes for good measure. The material of his mask followed each movement, making it so his eyelids weren't visible at any given moment, and she knew that hers did the same. “If _I'm_ terrible, then Ladybug has to be, too.”

A laugh escaped her at the thought. It was fair, though; Chat Noir was able to consistently beat his seniors in duels, and that must've shown in school when he fought against his class-mates.

“You are pretty good,” the dark-haired female agreed, looking at him contemplatively. “Are you like this in all your classes?”

Running a hand through his hair, Chat Noir replied, “No, absolutely not. I'm just really good at duelling—that's why I signed up for this.”

Marinette fiddled with her glass, taking a sip of her drink slowly. “What's it like being ahead of your class-mates?”

“Annoying at times.” He wrinkled his facial features together to express his displeasure. “The professor has me act as their assistant for the lessons, and it's honestly tiring after years of the same treatment.”

She'd never thought of that possibility. Marinette wasn't sure on what her magic was like compared to other students personally, as she'd only been told that she was on a higher level than the others ones that her tutors worked with in the seasonal breaks. She wondered whether she would've been placed in the same position as Chat Noir if she attended a school of her choosing, or if she would've been on a similar level to her class-mates—either way, she would've been awkward socialising with so many at once.

With a group of ten around a table, she felt out of place as it was, let alone a large school worth of students and the professors.

“What school do you go to?” she wondered aloud.

He looked at her curiously. “Are you asking me to tell you who I am?”

“Oh, no,” Marinette quickly denied, feeling her ribbons hitting her head as she shook it. “I just—I don't go to school, so I was curious about it, that's all.”

“You don't go to _school_?” Chat Noir questioned loudly, drawing the attention of the others with his enquiry. “Are you—are you serious? You don't look ill.”

That was one of the common reactions she got when she met curious newcomers. Chloé had even questioned her on it before dropping the subject in favour of doing something fun with their time instead. Other than the special allowances that were given every few years—of which she was in a small percentage of the decade—it was usually magical children that were too ill to attend school that didn't go. It depend on their condition on whether they were allowed tutors, though most of the time they didn't learn spells and focused more on recovering; it was rare for illnesses to appear that couldn't be cured by potions and spells that were recorded, but they did still happen.

Putting her glass on the table so she could fiddle with her hands, Marinette tentatively clarified, “I got permission to study at home when I was ten.”

“Ladybug's a genius and we didn't know!” L'Imposteur exclaimed loudly, pointing across the table at her. “Think of all the possibilities that could happen if people knew!”

She gulped. “That's kind of the point of the mask.”

The older male visibly deflated. “Fuck, right—shit, I'm not supposed to be swearing in front of children, am I?”

“It's never stopped you before,” Chat Noir quipped dryly. “You're still considered a child, too. That's why you're in this competition at all.”

“Shut it, you,” L'Imposteur retorted without any heat. “And to answer your question that I was listening into, the majority of us attend Beauxbatons—we just don't know each other there because of the different years.”

Chat Noir pitched in, “Don't forget the ridiculous amount of students, too.”

The school was known to her, of course. _Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons_ was the only magical school in France, one that was located in a lavish castle large enough to host the hundreds of students and provide boarding for them, too. It had been her main choice while growing up, as she didn't want to travel too far away from her family, let alone learn another language to manage to fit in well.

“What did you do to get out of going to school?” Chat Noir questioned, curiosity clear in his voice as he turned to look at her.

She reached up to play with the stray hairs at the nape of her neck. “I made a spell when I was eight.”

“That's _amazing_ ,” L'Imposteur exclaimed, and the others joined in with the praise, causing her cheeks to feel warm. “I was too busy playing with my bike to even think about doing spells at that age—well, that and my parents hid away the books from me.”

The question she'd been dreading popped up. “Is it published?”

After she gave the confirmation, she was surprised that they didn't pester her for further information. It would've been easy to find out who she was if they asked about the spell, but they didn't. Instead, they ushered a waiter over to order dessert for everyone, and she was surprised when L'Imposteur paid for hers.

“Think of it as a good-bye gift for now,” he answered her silent question through the widening of her eyes. “I'm turning seventeen next month, so I won't see you for a while.”

“You're not buying my dessert,” Chat Noir pitched in, dramatically sulking as he rested his elbows on the table. “We've been together so long, and now you're abandoning me for a pretty face.”

L'Imposteur leaned across the table to flick his forehead. “You're not a genius.”

The laugh that escaped her was loud and honest, slightly higher-pitched than normal.

-x-

Chloé was a persistent friend.

If Marinette didn't reply to her messages within thirty minutes, the blonde-haired female would proceed to call the pâtisserie's number and proceed to ask what she was doing. Even though Chloé was away at _Beauxbatons_ for her education, she still messaged her each evening. Chloé informed her about her day, no matter how miniscule the details were, and Marinette found herself deeply interested in the tales that she heard about the school, curious about the different classes and professors that were described.

When the winter break came, Chloé promptly arrived at Marinette's home and demanded entrance. It was after a few hours of sitting within her bedroom that the sweet aroma that was wafting from downstairs got to them, and when Marinette's stomach growled loudly, the blonde-haired female let out a frustrated moan of her own and dramatically flopped down on the bed.

“Want me to get some food?” Marinette questioned, already getting to get feet and going towards the door.

Chloé grumbled from where her face was pressed against the duvet, “As long as it's healthy.”

And that was how she started working on a new line of products for her parents' business. Along with the ever-changing flavoured cakes, Marinette experimented on making the ingredients healthier, starting off with butter.

When she asked her parents for a large amount of butter, they mostly looked bemused. After years of listening to her ramble and theorise, they were somewhat used to her requests.

Her uncle continued to arrive at her home to teach her duelling techniques, transforming their study into a large room that wouldn't be wrecked by the violent spells that they used. She often spent the first few minutes of their lessons rambling about her newest discoveries or theories, all of which he made the appropriate noises in response—from experience, he was a lot more understanding than her parents were, but he couldn't help to perfect her techniques, as he wasn't familiar with the spells in the first place.

That didn't mean she didn't appreciate his input, though.

She had to drag herself away from her notes to attend that winter's duelling competition. The location it was at that time was larger, further away so she had to use the fireplace rather than other means or travel, so it was just after noon when she stumbled out of it clad in her duelling outfit. As she caught herself before she fell onto the floor, Marinette's cheeks were red when she smoothed out the material of her dress afterwards.

The list of contestants was larger that year, again. It was estimated to last to before eight o'clock in the evening due to the amount, and the fact that they had to fight twice, and when she went backstage, she didn't recognise a lot of the masks.

Chat Noir waved her over towards a group that did look familiar. A few of the masks had graduated and moved on due to the age limit—such as L'Imposteur—and it turned out that two others were having their last competition duel that day, as they would be too old to participate in the summer. Marinette nodded her head sadly to the news, too shy to approach the other newcomers that had arrived, as they were starting to outnumber the ones that she already knew.

It was a vast difference to her first competition.

She wasn't the smallest any more, and she was sure that the majority that had joined were older than her fourteen years, too. It seemed that the popularity that the competition had gathered was paying off from the decorated stage and large room filled with seats, along with the various cameras that were around the room.

“Ladybug?” Chat Noir called, hand falling onto her shoulder gently to catch her attention.

Surprised, she turned to look at him. “Yes?”

“You were spacing out,” he pointed out, the friendly smile she was used to appearing on his lips. “You're up first—you ready?”

“Oh,” she breathed, standing up quickly. “I guess.”

He patted her on the back. “Go on, genius.”

“I really don't like that nickname,” the dark-haired female grumbled, shooting him a narrow-eyed glance before walking towards the stage.

Just as the other times, her chosen name was called aloud, but the change was that the announcer continued on to say the amount of times she'd participated in the competition, along with her success rate of winning—it was high, something that caused the crowd to cheer as she took her designated spot across from her opponent.

They didn't use the generic bow; it was elegant, and they even pointed out their fingers with the movement. It was one of the first times she'd seen any other than her use a personal one.

To her surprise, she managed to win the first duel. Her breaths were coming out as pants from the constant moving, and she was sure she'd landed wrongly on her ankle, but there was nothing but pride on her face as she walked backstage.

The shouts of her chosen name from those she'd become friendly with made her smile brighter.

After the nurse had patched her up—all the while she was peering at the screen to see what was happening in the duels—she wandered over to the designated bench where she often sat with the others. Chat Noir was there, his foot nervously tapping against the floor as he watched the fight that was happening at that moment, one which had resulted in more blood than any thus far.

“Hey, welcome back,” he greeted as he spotted her, purposely sliding along to make space. “Good job out there, Bug.”

She looked at him strangely. “You can't shorten my name to Bug.”

“Fine.” He exhaled loudly. “I'll think of something good someday.”

Although they were somewhat close, she hadn't wondered whether they were friends before. Was it possible to be friends with someone that she only saw two times a year? They spent a lot of time together within those hours they were in the same building, after all, and she did enjoy his company—

“Are we friends?” Marinette blurted, averting her eyes to stare down at her hands. “I—sorry, I mean, I-I've only really got one friend.”

For a few moments, Chat Noir opened his mouth before closing it, no words escaping him as he stared at her.

She started to worry that she'd definitely said the wrong thing before he answered softly, “You have more than that, Ladybug.” He gestured to those sitting around them, the same dwindling group that she'd gone to dinner with all those months ago. “Just because we don't know each other's names doesn't mean we're not friends, you know.”

She wetted her lips. “Oh.”

His smile grew as he suddenly stood out, offering out a glove-clad hand as he said, “Come on.”

Taking his hand, Marinette allowed him to pull her up to her feet. “What are we doing?” she questioned, knowing that he was bound to be called for his match at any moment.

“I'm going to teach you something that friends do,” he explained, nodding his head as he did so.

Letting go of her hand, he made his own into a fist and gestured for her to do the same. Bemused, Marinette obediently copied, and watched as he gently pressed his knuckles against hers.

“Friends do this?” she questioned, tilting her side slightly to the side.

He grinned. “It's a celebratory thing.”

“Interesting,” Marinette mused, pulling her fist back to stare at it. It was a movement that she couldn't see Chloé doing willingly, not even when something good had happened to her—she had to assume that it was a different type of person that would do it. “This still doesn't mean you can call me weird nicknames, though.”

The laugh that left his lips was loud. “I'll find one that you'll _love_ , trust me. And since we're friends, you can call me Chat. It's a lot easier than saying the whole name each time.”

“Okay, Chat.” She beamed.

Marinette won both of her matches that evening, and Chat was in the top three again. Instead of only receiving cheers from the audience, the three winners that were chosen were given cheques each, a fair amount of money that he was wide-eyed about receiving later that night at their chosen restaurant. It was one with bright lights and colourful napkins on the table, and they were told beforehand that the older members that were graduating on were going to be the ones paying for their meals that evening.

By the end of it, she was glad to say that she was friends with all of the members that had joined them. Marinette was able to laugh freely and interject her opinion on the topics of conversation, though she was still shy when attention was sent her way. They questioned her life slightly, asking whether she was happy staying at home, and Marinette had shrugged her shoulders and said that it was all she knew.

Afterwards, when she was walking towards one of the travel-houses to go home, Chat was walking by her side with his arms crossed over his chest. While she'd shrugged on a black-coloured jacket over her duelling outfit, he hadn't brought any additional clothing.

While they waited in the queue outside—the houses were often busy, due to the reliance on the travelling system—Marinette noticed something about him that made her surprised.

“Did you grow taller?” she questioned, staring up at him.

When they'd first met—almost two years ago—they'd been at a similar height; that was why he'd been selected to talk to her, after all. Yet, she was just above his chin at that moment, a stark difference to how it had been before.

His grin seemed more like a smirk. “Maybe you got smaller?”

“I'm not the one with the small brain,” she teased, standing on her toes to see how high she could reach. “This isn't fair. We could've been twins before.”

Chat snorted. “Ladybug, I've never been as small as you.”

“You were pretty close, though!” she protested, holding a hand up to the top of her head. “You were all cute and up to here, and now look at you. You've betrayed me.”

“I don't even know your age,” he replied, hitting her hand lightly so it fell to her side.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I'm not going to tell you—you don't deserve it.”

Placing a hand upon his chest, he dramatically winced. “That hurts, Bugaboo.”

“You're absolutely not calling me that.”

-x-

For Chloé's birthday, Marinette proudly sent her present to the school. It was a box—complete with obnoxious ribbons on the outside—with an ever-changing flavoured cake inside that had her new spell cast on it. The blonde-haired female initiated a video call on her cell phone, where Marinette could see her picking it up with a suspicious glance, holding it in the air for a few moments before taking a bite.

The only way to make sure she ate it all turned out to be revealing that it had barely any calories due to her work throughout the year. Marinette had worked out the calculations for her plan on specific cakes—the ones that were the sweetest, and considered the most popular—and it was only after accidentally turning a few into sludge that she managed to crack what was going wrong. So, it was at the beginning of spring that her newest creation was included on her family's products, and they garnered even more attention than before.

She couldn't publish the spell, however. It was catered to the specific recipes and wouldn't work with any that had been made, not even the plain pastries that she'd tried. It was kept as a secret spell that couldn't be revealed without their recipes leaking, one that was included in the _Cheng Spellbook_ with a smiling picture of Marinette underneath it.

The book contained over ten pictures of her at that rate, including a little paragraph on why she'd created the spell, the age she was at, and her won tiny drawing of the sweets.

The summertime duelling competition had given out information beforehand that it had changed drastically due to the number of contestants that had entered. The ones that had been approved—there was outrage in a local paper from ones that had been denied—were to arrive at a hotel and stay there for one night, as the fights would be one per day. There were rooms available per person, but due to her age and the fact that her family couldn't stay with her, Marinette chose to travel there again the next day, since she wasn't allowed to stay in a room alone.

She understood, of course. She was only fifteen, and had only had two sleepovers in the past (all of which at been at Chloé's home), but that didn't mean she didn't sulk about it for a few days.

Chat greeted her enthusiastically as always, waving her over to sit down on a bench backstage. He rambled about the newcomers, pointing out the ones that he knew the name of, and she found it hard to try and remember them all. It was no wonder that the event had been changed to two days with the amount that had turned up; perhaps it was the anonymous part that had garnered attention, rather than the prize money.

After winning her first fight—to which she was embarrassed when the defeated party complimented her outfit afterwards—she was greeted by Chat excitedly standing up and offering his fist out to her.

She bumped her knuckles against his lightly, hoping that she'd done it right.

From the way he beamed at her, she assumed she had.

While watching the different duels—that had commentators, remarking on the spells and techniques used—she helped herself to the food that was on display for them to freely eat. Marinette patted Chat encouragingly on the back when his name was called, and she watched in fascination as she could see his improvement from the previous year. It was even more than his shield being able to withstand powerful spells; he was faster as he moved, clearly not troubled by the growth spurt that had hit him.

He won his first match, too.

“Good job, Chat,” she praised, awkwardly holding her clenched fist in the air.

With a laugh, Chat bumped his hand against hers and said, “You look adorably confused while doing that.”

“You're not supposed to make fun of me for it,” she grumbled, sitting back down her in preferred seat. The backstage area had become larger every year, with comfier seats as the money increased. “You're really good at duelling.”

He shrugged his shoulders half-heartedly. “It's just a talent I have, I guess.”

“You guess?” she questioned, wondering why he seemed so reluctant about it. “I'm—I'm not going to ask about who you are, if that's what you're worried about.”

Readjusting his gloves—they seemed to be made of some sort of leather, charmed to resist harmful spells—the blond-haired male replied, “I know that by now.”

She blinked. “You do?”

“Well, yeah.” His grin was lopsided. “It's only fair, isn't it? I could find out who you are with some research, but you clearly don't want me to. Out of everyone else here, you're the most likely to respect my wishes.”

That was true. However, none of the reporters that appeared for the duels, nor the announcers, knew much of her background; to them, Ladybug was a teenager that appeared in the breaks of school, a passing by student that hid behind a mask while fighting under specific rules. There was nothing special about her, not really—there was countless talented contestants that had appeared, all of whom aged out of the requirements without amounting to much.

Her thoughts were interrupted by him announcing, “My father's a duelling champion, so that's why I'm asked to help out in class.”

“Oh,” she replied dumbly, not sure on how to react to that. After a moment, she settled by answering just as quietly, “My uncle's one, too. They've probably fought each other.”

Chat perked up from that, turning to look at her without the usual grin. “He is?”

“Yes,” Marinette confirmed, reaching up to fiddle with one of her ribbons. “He's the reason I got into this—he recommended this because of the mask, actually. I think he wanted me to start talking to other people.”

“Other than your one friend, you mean.”

She wondered whether he was able to see the redness that had appeared across her cheeks—she'd never seen a change in his skin colour, though it hard to remember it when they parted. It was another fine detail of the spell; no freckles, moles, or even the shape of the nose was visible, and all she could remember clearly was his outfit.

As her hand fell down to her lap to fiddle with her gloves, Marinette tentatively admitted, “I didn't have her before I started this.”

“Do you want to go to school?” he asked, curiosity clear in his voice.

From the way their masks worked, voices were one of the only ways to tell how the other was feeling. She could see smiles and tell that they were present, of course, but she couldn't tell whether they were genuine or forced due to the restrictions. It was as though the rest of their faces were blurred out, unrecognisable other than the mask and eyes, so much so that she had trouble knowing the condition of his teeth.

For all she knew, he could've had missing ones. His skin could've had scars, and his ears could've been littered with piercings, but none of that was visible from the spell.

“I don't know,” she answered, honest and soft. “I've only been to a muggle one when I was younger, and I had to withdraw due to accidental magic.”

He hummed. “Most of us did, though.”

As it was true, Marinette nodded in agreement.

“Well, if you ever feel like going to school,” Chat started, glancing beside them to see whether the ones closest were paying attention. “For a few more years, you'll find me at _Beauxbatons_.”

The group that she usually ate with agreed to have their routine dinner the following night. Marinette said her farewells after finding out that all of them were staying at the hotel that had been offered, and she trudged outside to meet her parents after changing her outfit in the bathroom. She was saddened from learning that the rest of their group, other than her and Chat, were going to participate in either one or two more until they became too old.

The next day, she returned with a wrapped up box in her hands that contained pastries and small cupcakes from her family's store. She kept it in one of the offered lockers, spelled so no one else could touch it while the spell was active, and she was immediately pulled into enthusiastic hugs when her hands were free.

Chat was up before her.

She watched in amazement as he deflected a harmful curse that was soaring his way without much effort, and retaliated with a hex that caused his opponent to stumble in surprise. Rather than going for a blow that would've injured them, he chose instead to cause them to topple over—the least harmful thing he could've done—and drop their wand in the process.

It was a victory that said a lot about his character. The judges thought that, too, as they commented on his techniques. One of them criticised that he was being too civil, that his spells weren't dangerous in the slightest, and therefore there was a chance for him to be underestimated.

From the way he was smiling when he joined her backstage, he didn't seem too bothered from the remarks.

Marinette won her match, too. It was a last moment decision on her part to allow the harmful spell to hit her other hand—causing it to be broken and in need of repair—and she used the surprise of not dodging into the follow-up curse, that had been cast in anticipation of her reaction, to cast a similar spell that cast two fingers on her opponent's hand to break, meaning they let go of their wand from the sudden pain.

For the first time, she was in the top three. Chat was, too, and he walked onstage with a confident smile.

Marinette received a cheque and was interviewed awkwardly by an announcer, something that didn't happen the previous competitions. She tentatively explained that she was duelling for the thrill of it, and to test whether she was strong or not—it was an honest answer, and the first one that popped into her mind, and it caused the crowd to make her flinch when they cheered in response to it.

“That was nice,” Marinette murmured, clutching the wrapped box in her hands as she started to walk towards the travel-house with Chat by her side.

The dinner had been fun, as always, but it was becoming clear that their group was dwindling. She was having to say good-bye to those that she'd come to know as friends, ones that she wasn't close enough with to exchange identities; other than the conversations between matches and the meals, they didn't talk for months on end. Chat was an enthusiastic person, one that rambled on to whoever was by his side, but she was at least closer to him than the others—she knew about one of his parents, and even where he went to school.

“So, how does it feel to win?” Chat questioned, not shivering like the last time they'd walked together. The summer weather made it so there was no need for the extra clothing (not that she'd ever seen him in a coat).

Adjusting her grip on the box, she replied, “A bit weird, really. I think it would be better if the winners were more clear, rather than picked out throughout all the duels.”

“You want to fight your way to the top, you mean,” the blond-haired male clarified with a thoughtful tone. “I'm afraid you'll have to wait until you're old enough to do that.”

It was understandable, really. Seventeen was the age that wizards and witches were considered adults, as their magical cores would've finished growing. It was harmful to their bodies to use too much magic when they were younger—which was why they weren't allowed wands until they were eleven—and that was the reason why the duels were restricted to only two each, regardless of the length.

As they joined the queue to the travel-house, Marinette turned to face him.

“Chat,” she started, cutting herself off to clear her throat self-consciously. “This is for you.”

He accepted the wrapped box easily, only asking, “What?”

“It's a—I'm just thankful for everything you've done for me,” she stuttered, aware that her cheeks were growing warm. “You're a good friend.”

Holding it with both hands, Chat Noir smiled at her. She wondered how different he would've looked if she could tell the shape of his nose, or even how his eyebrows moved—the mask that flexed to his expressions made it hard to tell.

She wondered whether he shared her frustrations.

“Oh,” he whispered, sounding surprised and shy all at once. “I—thank you, Ladybug.”

She grinned. “No nickname?”

“I can't think of any right now.”

-x-

The popularity resulted in the winter competition being over the span of two days, too. The anonymity of it all had encouraged the founders to recreate it for those of age, posters around the arena advertised the different age groups that were upcoming in the following year; from seventeen to twenty-seven, going up by a decade per. It meant that those who were about to duel for their last time had an option to continue on with the mask, rather than abandon it, along with their hopes of entering the more famous—and heavily restricted—duelling competitions.

“There's a lot of people in the audience,” Marinette remarked as she sat down beside Chat.

Alongside the posters advertising the new competition, each contestant had their name and face displayed—except, all of the face other than the mask had been blurred out, including the eyes, so it showed part of the outfit and hairstyle instead. They were charmed to move in a short loop, showing each of them doing an idle animation.

“Definitely,” he agreed, stretching his arms out in front of him. “Anyone of your family here to see you?”

She nodded. “My uncle's here, and he's recording it for everyone else to see later.”

“That's nice.” There was something wistful in his tone. “It's kind of a secret that I'm here—I've been lying for years and saying that I'm staying over at a friend's house.”

It was a surprise that he was willing to open up to her again. “That sounds dangerous,” the dark-haired female pointed out, mind immediately jumping to everything that could've gone wrong. Even at fifteen, she had someone in the crowd looking out for her safety, though she had been allowed to walk to the travel-houses with friends for the past few years. “Do they not approve of this?”

“I've never asked.” From where they were sitting, he moved closer so he could press their arms together as he leaned against her. “If I told anyone that this is what I want to do, they'd just put me in my father's shadow—I want to live my own life doing the things I enjoy, rather than following expectations.”

She didn't have similar expectations of her, not at all. Marinette knew her family wouldn't have minded if she chose a career other than the culinary arts, no matter what she did—they'd fully supported her uncle's dream to be a duellist, after all. She'd already contributed to the _Cheng Spellbook_ more than an average family member had by the age of fifteen, and the money that she was steadily accumulating each year due to her published spell meant that she wouldn't be troubled for money in the future.

Reaching up to touch his blond hair, that felt soft on her skin, Marinette confessed softly, “I keep the recordings of your fights to watch them back later.”

Sitting upright, no longer leaning against her, Chat sounded surprised as he asked, “You do?”

It didn't feel right to point out that she had them for any of the fights that her uncle thought would be informative—it just so happened that he'd kept the recordings of all of Chat's (due to their similar ages, and the skills he'd displayed).

“Of course,” she answered, bumping her shoulder against his lightly. “You're really good out there, Chat. I've got to find out your weakness somehow for when we're eventually against each other.”

She could see his smile was large when he replied, “I'm looking forward to that day.”

Whether it was due to the training from her uncle, or the fact that she was able to freely spend her free time studying whichever topic she wanted when her tutors were gone, Marinette found herself hardly breaking a sweat when she'd won her duel. The judges were only criticising her opponent, not giving her any feedback that could've been useful, so she felt strange when she went backstage.

It shouldn't have been easy for her—she shouldn't have been winning for a competitions in a row, not when she was younger than most. She may have had a champion duellist as her coach, but that shouldn't have made it so she won the vast majority of her matches when she came from a background of barely interacting with others, let alone duelling against them.

“Is this—does this seem easy to you?” Marinette questioned quietly after she'd taken a sip of water.

When Chat turned to look at her, she wondered how expressive his face could've been without the mask. “There's a lot of sloppy contestants this time,” he whispered back, keeping his voice quiet so they wouldn't offend others. “It might be because of the popularity of it; they're letting in a lot of newcomers.”

“They let me in before,” she pointed out. “I hadn't fought against anyone other than my uncle before that.”

“That was back when we weren't featured on live television,” the blond-haired male answered, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “It's—you said it before, this is _easy_. I've already seen messy techniques from the matches that have happened, and I haven't even been called yet.”

She sighed. “Do you think it's like this for the adult version?”

“Definitely not,” he denied. “I've already looked into it—other than confirming your identity, like we have to do here, there's tests to gauge your level of magic beforehand. If it's too weak, you're not allowed to enter.”

As Chat had mentioned, she was able to tell that the performances had reduced in quality as they watched the duels. Similar to her, when Chat was called up for his turn, he was able to collect his opponent's wand without any injury to his body.

The following day didn't fare much better. Marinette and Chat received their cheques for winning the position of top three once more, stood there for their awkward interviews, and when the time came for dinner, they found themselves down to four. As nice as it was to chat and talk about random topics—and not focus on the disaster that the competition had been—it wasn't the same without the others there, too.

They parted ways at the travel-house once more, exchanging a quick hug before they went through their separate fireplaces.

Her parents were just as supportive as they had been every other time; they ate dinner together while watching the duels back, complimenting her profusely and kissing the top of her head when it was finished. Her uncle pointed out the ones that had been good, and even he had to agree that the quality had fallen from the previous ones. Perhaps it was due to the talent dwindling with the newcomers, or that the ones entering were only there to be seen, rather than to refine their skills and leave.

As always, she continued to travel with her uncle every few months to see him participate in competitions. They were nothing like the ones she'd been in; although sometimes people aimed to impress, rather than win, the majority of them showed high-quality skill and techniques, stuff that had her sitting on the edge of her seat as she watched it live.

“You'll be old enough to enter these competitions soon,” her uncle pointed out as they sat down in a diner. “Have you decided if that's something you want to do?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I'm not even sixteen yet.”

He smiled patiently. “Soon.”

“I don't know,” Marinette confessed quietly. “I don't want people to expect too much from me because I'm related to you—that could happen, couldn't it?” Chat's words had swirled in her head, and she'd wondered since then whether those could apply to her, too. “I'm not—I know people used to call me a prodigy, but none of my spells have anything to do with duelling.”

“What other people think of you doesn't matter, Marinette,” her uncle announced, the smile reaching his brown-coloured eyes. “You're a smart girl, regardless of your achievements. I'd still be as proud of you as I am now if you never dabbled in spell creation.”

Running a hand through her hair, Marinette grumbled, “You have to say that, you're family.”

“I'm not family to Ladybug, the masked heroine of duelling, am I?”

She lightly kicked him beneath the table. “That's a horrible title.”

With the results being published throughout the internet, newspaper, and on television, it resulted in various additions being added to her chosen name, all in the hopes of attracting attention. She'd seen the picture of her standing beside Chat and the other winner, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in her stomach as she took in the praises that were being said in the comments. It—it shouldn't have been like that, not when the quality had dropped so much.

If the popularity had been there originally, then the audience would've been interested in the likes of L'Imposteur, and all the others who'd aged too much to be included any more. They had been the ones to attract the attention in the beginning—they'd been the shining beacons, the ones that had made her feel welcome and wanted, even when she'd been a weedy kid who'd been too nervous to make friends with anyone.

It was made worse when the next time she saw Chloé, the blonde-haired female had discovered the competition.

“It looks so exciting!” Chloé exclaimed, enthusiastically tapping at her cell phone as she tried to find the video that she'd been referencing to show to her. “There's this really kickass girl showing everyone up, too. She's definitely my favourite.”

She promptly choked on her drink.

It took showing Chloé her mask for the blonde to believe her. Marinette had tentatively pointed out the similarities between her and the Ladybug in the video before her, pointing to the hair and body shape—that couldn't be hidden from the mask—but she had to bring Chloé over to her house to prove it completely.

So, after her sixteenth birthday, in addition to her uncle being in the crowd, Chloé was there, too. The blonde-haired female had dressed herself in similar clothing to Marinette's duelling outfit to show her support, something that had made her flush in shyness when she first saw it. It was nice, though, as when she walked across the room to enter the backstage section, she could see her loud friend clearly in the crowd.

Other than the larger waiting room for contestants, the main difference was that she found herself sitting alone. Marinette fiddled with her fingerless gloves, staring up at the television to see the announcer interviewing with the judges, asking them who was most likely to impress, and an uncomfortable weight settled in her stomach by the time the first contestants were being called.

There was an empty space next to her, one that hadn't been present since she was thirteen and shy. The ones that had welcomed her had all disappeared, and she was left with a welling of tears appearing in her eyes as she blinked rapidly, trying to see through the blurriness to take in the rest of the room.

Chat Noir wasn't there.

She was one of the last called up, and even in her disorientated state—confused, wondering why he'd disappeared without telling her anything—Marinette was able to win without severely injuring herself. As she stared down at the foreign wand in her hand, she gripped it tightly with a frown.

They'd never had their chance to duel.

The first day came to a close, and there was no sign of him. A few others had tried to approach her for conversation, but she felt awkward and out of place, so she made excuses to walk across the room, away from them. It was—it was strange, really. Before Chloé had charged into her life from persistence, Chat had been her first friend closest to her age for years. He'd been friendly, funny, and they'd shared little details of their lives that couldn't be connected to their identities—

Had he aged up?

She shook her head. There was a chance he was ill, and therefore couldn't participate.

And with that in mind, Marinette stayed behind as the hall cleared out, looking through the posters on the walls to see whether his face was displayed on them. The frown was etched onto her lips as she walked around, facial contorting in confusion as she reached the end of the line.

Maybe—maybe they'd changed them, as he was too unhealthy to attend. There was no point getting the audience excited for his appearance, after all.

She kept that in mind the following day, convinced that was the reason that he'd disappeared. After accepting the cheque, she walked to the travel-house by herself, surprising her parents by her early arrival at home. As much as she didn't want to admit it, she had to tell them that her friends from the competition had aged up, and therefore there wouldn't be post-competition dinners in the future—she couldn't see herself and Chat sat alone at a table, after all.

Chloé wasn't pleased to hear that she could've stayed behind and spent time with Marinette for dinner instead of travelling back, accompanied by Marinette's parents. However, she saw that Marinette was upset, that annoyance shifted to concern as she tried to find out what was wrong.

Thus, that was how Chloé proclaimed that cats weren't needed, and vowed that if he ever saw him at a competition again, she'd punch him for upsetting her.

The heated way she'd said it made Marinette burst into laughter, grateful that she had someone who cared about her close.

The winter competition came, and he wasn't there. Marinette placed in the top three once more, easily breezing through the duels, and to her bemusement, one of the youngest newcomers had an outfit that was similar to her own. It was a compliment, yes, but it made her feel increasingly awkward as she sat alone in the waiting room, uncertain on what to do with herself. The second day, she brought along a notebook to record some of the details of the other duels, writing down how they could've been improved.

Of course, his poster wasn't put up.

Rather than wallowing in the sudden loneliness, she focused on her family and Chloé in the crowd, the smile on her face because she knew that she was loved, and that they supported her. When she bowed at the beginning, she could hear her mother cheering from being proud of her. After she accepted her cheque for being in the top three, she dressed in normal clothing in a nearby bathroom, and met her parents and Chloé outside to walk to a nearby restaurant.

It couldn't replace her friends from before, but it was nice.

-x-

After a few years of being badgered, Marinette gave into Chloé's requests. She applied to _Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons_ once she gained the approval of her parents—who were overjoyed that she wanted to branch out of her comfort zone and be surrounded by other students—and it was the middle of summer when she received her acceptance letter for the upcoming term in early autumn. She was due to spend her last year in education at the school, boarding until winter, which would be an entirely new experience.

Chloé made sure to fill her in on the teachers again, mentioning problem students to avoid, and those that would only mock her due to their poor attitudes, and even scribbled on the supplied map of the school to indicate the best paths to navigate the castle. Her blonde-haired friend was surprisingly helpful about the whole ordeal, and even escorted her to the clothing-shop that sold the uniform.

There was two choices: either a knee-length dress with long sleeves and a collar, or a long-sleeved button up shirt and trousers, both completed with a fitted blazer with the school's crest on it. All of it was different shades of blue—mostly light—and looked soft to touch. The clothing was charmed to fit the wearer (only to a certain degree, new would need to be bought after a large growth spurt of any way), but it didn't cost as much as the rest of the school supplies.

Chloé had made sure she had enough pens and notebooks, attempted to make her buy a designer bag to carry her belongings around in, and Marinette settled with a pink-coloured bag that she could place the strap of on her shoulder.

She applied to something else, too, after her uncle successfully convinced her that she was ready for it. After going through the necessary tests, registering herself, and making sure that she had her nerves under control, just after her seventeenth birthday, Marinette arrived at the doors of a large building dressed in her signature duelling outfit.

For the anonymous competition for those seventeen to twenty-seven, there was multiple waiting rooms. They had screens in them, of course, to show the stage and the duels that were going to happen on there, and multiple tables filled with replenishing food and drink.

The rules had changed from the juvenile one; contestants would fight against each other, gradually eliminating those that lost. There was no rematch, no second duel to attempt to get back in—one loss meant they were evicted from the competition. It would last two days like the previous, and she'd accepted the room at the hotel a few hours before, leaving her belongings inside. Her parents had said that since she was old enough to enter an adult competition, then she was mature enough to sleep in a hotel alone, too.

It was a whirlwind of emotion. Marinette wiped her clammy hands on her thighs, adjusting the collar of her red-coloured dress, trying to make herself comfortable before her turn came. There was a panel of judges, of course, but they were there to oversee the fights and ensure that the spells used were within the rules—other than that, their opinions didn't matter.

She barely won her first duel.

Marinette had to visit one of the nurses—multiple, not like the one there had been before—to get herself healed, and by the time she'd been seen to and could return to a waiting room, she'd missed two of the duels. She was wide-eyed and amazed at some of the techniques that were shown, her mind immediately flickering to seeing her uncle perform them in the videos.

There was a bundle of nerves in her stomach, tightening and making her feel nauseated as she thought about what the future could hold, but she believed her uncle when he said that she was ready. He'd trained her—tenderly, not with a harsh glint in his eyes or sharp attitude like some coaches had—since she was young, preparing her for the possible competitions.

So, she chose to believe in him. He wouldn't lie to her, after all.

She managed to continue to win, sometimes almost giving up at the end of them due to her injuries and the tears in her clothing hindering her, but by the end of that day, the thirty-two that had been there originally had been eliminated down to sixteen—and she was still _in_.

To her surprise, there were reporters waiting at the hotel, wanting to talk to them. A lot of the more experienced duellists, ones used to the treatment, spoke to them with ease, while Marinette wandered into the hotel and went to find her room. There was a dinner and breakfast offered to all of them, and they were allowed to wear their masks to keep the anonymity alive. It was a strange situation to be in, but being around those that were taller than her, clearly older, and seeing them embracing the mask without casting it aside was reassuring.

She spent the evening talking to Chloé on the phone.

The following day, she was eliminated in her first match.

Marinette wasn't mad, though. She was proud that she'd managed to make it so far for her first time; she wasn't against inexperienced teenagers any more, and she was able to hold her own for a fair amount of fights. So, it was with a smile that she stepped off of the stage, retreating to a waiting room to watch the rest of the competition.

When she returned home, it was to a banner and cheering from her family and Chloé. They'd meet there, of course, but she'd chosen to travel home alone as a precaution, as she didn't want her uncle to be connected to her too soon.

She flushed red from the praise, and hugged each of them tightly.

It was at the start of September that she packed all of her belongings in a suitcase—that was spelled to be larger on the inside—and climbed into Chloé's car. There was a few ways to travel to the school, apparently, but Chloé preferred the drive rather than by fireplace, or taking coaches with other students that had to leave early.

The windows were charmed so no one could see inside, and there was glass between the seats at the back and the front, making it so the driver—that Chloé's parents had hired her for the summer, something that Marinette had gawked over the first time she'd found out—couldn't see them neither. They were in casual clothing at first, with their uniform easily accessible for when they got closer to the school.

“Stop tapping your foot, it's unattractive,” the blonde-haired female scolded her, reaching out and swatting her jean-clad knee to emphasise her point. “You'll be _fine_.”

Marinette swallowed. “What if no one likes me?”

“Even if you become a social outcast, I'll still talk to you in secret.”

She snorted, narrowing her eyes at her. “Thanks for reassuring me our friendship is permanent.”

Chloé grinned, showing her straight teeth. “Anything for you, Ladybug.”

“You're a terrible person,” Marinette muttered, reaching up to fiddle with her hair that she'd secured in a high ponytail. It was long, reaching underneath her breasts when she had it down lately. “Are you—there's not a seating plan for meals, right?”

Shaking her head, Chloé reminded her, “The tables are sorted by years—just look for my beautiful hair and you're in the right place.”

“What if someone else has blonde hair?” she questioned, voice higher-pitched than usual from her panic. “I could see someone else and sit beside them, only for them to look at me weirdly—I don't want to be known as _that_ girl, Chloé. I'm already awkward enough, I don't need a nickname attached to me, too—”

Chloé interrupted her rambling with a practised flick to her forehead. “Calm down.”

“I'm _calm_ ,” she squeaked.

“I'll explain it to you _again_ , then,” the blonde announced, clearing her throat dramatically to make sure she had her attention. “We'll drop our luggage off at the entrance—that's why you have your name printed on your suitcase, Marinette—and then we'll take a seat in the dining hall for dinner, where the headmaster will make a speech. Do you understand?”

She opened her mouth and started to say, “I—”

Chloé's narrowed eyes looked at her. “You'll sit down beside me, dumbass. I won't let you get lost.”

“Okay,” Marinette agreed, still horribly nervous of the thought of sitting within a room of hundreds of students. The only experience she had, other than the competitions, had been her muggle primary school, where the classes had been thirty or less; not the sixty or so—Chloé couldn't remember the exact number—that would be in her year.

They changed into their uniforms when they were thirty minutes away. It was already dark outside by that time, meaning they'd been travelling for a few hours, but she was still feeling nervous. Marinette fiddled with the new clothing, resisting the urge to unbutton the blazer.

“Are you sure everyone wears their uniform like this?” she questioned, smoothing out the dress.

Chloé looked at her with raised eyebrows. “You're free to wear the trousers and shirt combination, of course, but this is much prettier.”

The castle was large and imposing, but beautiful. The car pulled up outside the gates—not allowed any further—and as she exited the vehicle, she was staring at the grounds that surrounded the area, barely illuminated by the little lights that were scattered across the grass and hanging off of the columns. The doors were made of wood, the floors of the hallways were stone and had expensive-looking rugs on them, and the décor was tasteful.

As Chloé had said, the dining hall had eight long tables within it; one for the professors, and then one each for the different year groups. Marinette slowly took her seat beside Chloé, noticing that the majority of students hadn't arrived yet.

The first one to sit near them was a male.

He came along, placed the blue-coloured blazer on the table, then sat down and rested his head on his arms with a loud groan.

Chloé didn't take her eyes away from Marinette as she greeted him with, “Hello, Adrien. Nice to know you had a good summer.”

“Shut up, Chloé,” the newly dubbed Adrien replied, voice muffled from the clothing. “I felt like an animal kept in a cage the whole time.”

“You look like one now,” the blonde-haired female pointed out, finally looking at him with disgust. “Get your arms off of the table.”

He huffed out a laugh. “You're not my father.”

“If you're capable of being a civilised human being for a few minutes, there's someone I want you to meet,” Chloé announced.

With another groan, he sat upright, rubbing at his eyes as though he'd just woken up before looking at the two of them across the table. Marinette could see that he had blond-coloured hair that fell to brush the top of his ears, and she remembered that Chloé had mentioned that he was one of her closest friends at the school. Adrien, she recalled, used to share Chloé's tutors when they were younger, and they'd recognised each other when they first started at _Beauxbatons_.

“This is Marinette,” Chloé said loudly, causing more eyes than just Adrien's to glance over at her. “I finally convinced her to come to our school.”

Feeling put on the spot, Marinette blurted out, “I—hi.”

“Nice to meet you,” Adrien offered, dimples appearing on his cheeks as he smiled.

She nodded awkwardly.

When the students had all arrived, and taken their seats around the hall, the headmaster was the first to stand up to talk. It was a quick speech, one about the upcoming exams and talking about the good events that had happened to the school in the previous months, before it turned onto welcoming the new first-years. Then, he announced that a new seventh-year had joined them, and Marinette had to awkwardly stand up and grimace as all the eyes turned to her.

But that was it—there was no mention of her previous school, nor where she'd been beforehand. It was short, sweet, and she was thankful for that.

Her introduction to the rest of Chloé's friends was just as bad. Marinette found herself too nervous to comfortably make conversation, and when she was addressed by them, she stuttered and stumbled over her words, making her cheeks redden from embarrassment. They didn't laugh at her, though, which was nice. Chloé didn't reprimand her for it either—it was reminiscent to how she'd been back when she'd met the blonde when they were little (before they destroyed things together).

Along with Adrien, there was a tanned male by the name of Nino. He wore his uniform sloppily, opting not to tuck the shirt in and leaving some buttons undone, while his girlfriend was a stark difference. Alya, with her red hair and and similarly tanned skin, kept her blazer buttoned and used a cooling charm when it became too hot (something Chloé had told her before).

They were welcoming, at least.

-x-

The dorms were separated by year and gender, and then there were various bedrooms which had multiple four-poster beds in each, complete with the curtains for privacy. They had a large common-room for the entirety of the seventh year, much like the others, so friends could stay in their pyjamas, talk, and do homework together outside of the library. Luckily, Marinette found herself sharing a bedroom with Chloé, Alya, and one other girl. The suitcases had been placed at the bottom of their beds, and on the bedside table, there was a small book with a list of rules for her to remember.

Alya had taken an instant liking to her. With her curly hair and brilliant smile, Alya wrapped her arm around Marinette's shoulder the next morning, offering to show her the way to class. They were smoothly interrupted by Chloé pushing the red-head aside, and then attempting to walk away with Marinette without saying a word.

From Alya's laughter, it seemed to be a dynamic of their friendship.

The classes weren't too bad; if anything, they were somewhat boring compared to the pace that she was used to with her tutors. A lot of the time was spent making sure that everyone knew the spell, so Marinette started jotting down theories and ideas in her notebook as the professor moved around the classroom, as she knew that she was already able to cast the spell that was requested.

Although some had asked which school she'd attended beforehand, Chloé cut them off with a stern look—while tossing her hair over her shoulder, sometimes—which meant that the blonde-haired female was the only one that knew of the contents of her notes, asides from the professors. From the way that they weren't focusing on her too much, she knew she was safe to assume that they knew about her education background already.

That didn't mean that they ignored her, however. When students were asked to perform a spell, she dutifully complied, a rush of confidence appearing as she did the hand movements necessary.

With Alya talking to her between classes, sitting beside her during meals and making conversation about anything and everything, it meant that Nino came along, too. He was nice, though he often had headphones on his ears while doing homework, which eliminated the chatter that they had when comparing notes and trying to figure out the answers. Marinette was included in the homework sessions in the common-room with the couple, Chloé, and Adrien almost every night, as they insisted that getting the work out of the way was the best tactic for enjoying the weekend free of classes.

Chloé's closest friend was Adrien. The two of them had similar heights and hair colours, which had resulted in some confusion when they were younger, but their personalities couldn't have been more different. While Chloé was fine with confrontation and was quick to anger when someone so much as bumped into her in the hallways, Adrien laughed off the bad situations, and stuck to being positive for whenever she saw him.

He had a strange sense of humour, one where puns amused him the most—Chloé _hated_ them, which only made him more entertained when he told them at the table, only for the blonde-haired female to groan or insult him.

It turned out that if the blazer was forgotten, the professors would tell them off. If the weather was hot—and it was, as it was only the beginning of autumn—then they needed to have it folded in their bag, or carried in their hands. Nino managed to get himself in trouble for forgetting it twice a week, and Alya ended up pulling him closer to do the buttons of his shirt up one time.

“Hey, Marinette,” Adrien greeted her on a sofa in the common-room for their year, lounging around in front of his belongings that were scattered across the table.

“Hi,” she started, raising her eyebrows at the mess. From what she'd learned about Adrien so far, he was a carefree person that preferred to keep his mess contained to his room. “What's going on here?”

His facial features scrunched together. “I'm avoiding family business.”

Standing in front of him, Marinette pointed out, “Those are actual letters.”

“My father feels it's important to honour tradition,” the blond announced, moving his legs to the side so she could sit down. “Which actually translates to him being terrible at using the computer, and he only uses his phone for calls.”

“That sounds hard to deal with,” she murmured as she began settling down on the newly freed space on the sofa. “What happens if you reply in a different way?”

Adrien swiftly moved his feet back to where they were, placing them onto her lap. She froze awkwardly, unsure whether to move them away or accept the position. From the way he was relaxed and glaring at his belongings, she assumed it was something that he did with friends usually, and that was a compliment in itself. In the weeks that she'd been there, she'd wondered to herself whether they were just being polite to her.

With a sigh, Adrien continued on to say, “I get reprimanded in his next letter, then. It's not like we even own an owl to deliver mail—no one has for _decades—_ so he sends it the muggle way.”

“Muggle mail's able to get here?” she questioned.

He turned to look at her with his eyebrows furrowed. “Of course. How else do you think packages get here? Let's not forget those without magical parents that might get their birthday presents in the mail.”

She cleared her throat, feeling embarrassed for not having thought of it. “Right, okay.”

“I bet your parents are normal and just message you in some way,” the blond-haired male said, resting his head back against the arm of the sofa. “What do they even do, by the way?”

That made their conversation easier, as Adrien sat up with wide eyes at the mention of her family's business. He exclaimed that he loved their food, and she grinned in happiness from hearing that. It turned out that his father was famous for some reason—he wouldn't say, it seemed their relationship wasn't the best—and since there was no mention of his mother, she assumed the strained relationship with his father was all he had.

When Alya and Nino joined them, they revealed that they were fond of her family's creations, too. They continued on to ask whether she knew how to recreate the recipes, spells and all, and that could've been her chance to be honest about her background, but she didn't. Marinette instead settled with saying that they were a family secret, but if she was able to access a kitchen within the castle, she wouldn't have minded making them for birthdays.

Chloé was tight-lipped on Marinette's background, still. The questions turned to the blonde when they found out that she and Marinette had been friends since they were in their early teens, since she hadn't been mentioned often in those years.

“She's not my dirty secret,” Chloé snapped, crossing her arms. “It was just nice having someone that didn't blabber on about you idiots.”

Marinette tried to muffle her laughter with her hand.

Out of all the new people she met, even those in the younger years that she spoke to in the mornings before they settled down to eat, the one she grew closest to was Adrien. She was able to laugh at his jokes, feel comfortable in his presence until some of the other friendly class-mates who were enthusiastic, and since he was usually where Chloé was, it became her routine to sit next to his in classes.

So, a few weeks before winter break, Marinette enquired whether she'd be allowed to use the kitchen for a class-mates birthday. To her surprise, she was given the okay; they were allowed to as long as it was permitted.

As Chloé was the only one that knew, she found herself in the kitchen dressed in her pyjamas with Chloé by her side, dressed similarly with a dressing gown draped over her elegantly. The blonde-haired female had agreed to it when Marinette had suggested the birthday gift idea, after she'd remembered the compliments the cakes and such had received in the past.

After leaving the cake to cool, Marinette cast her ever-changing flavour spell upon it, and then passed the decorating equipment over to Chloé, so she could contribute.

The end result wasn't pretty; the icing was lopsided and smoother in different sections, but it had charm. It would taste good, too, which was the main point. They were allowed to store it in the kitchen for the upcoming day.

Adrien's birthday was normal; class-mates congratulated him with hugs and pats on the back, some giving him brightly-wrapped presents, and it was only after classes were over and they were seated in the common-room that Marinette and Chloé set out to retrieve the cake.

His smile reached his eyes when he blew out the candles.

The day they parted for the winter holidays, the five of them promised to exchange presents when they were back. Students were allowed to stay within the castle as an option—one that wasn't open during the summer—but the vast majority decided to go home.

Her parents hugged her tightly when she exited Chloé's car. She found out that the fireplaces at the school had large queues, so she was grateful for her blonde-haired friend for being stubborn enough to warrant the ride, rather than the other forms of transport.

She gave them the lengthy explanation of her classes instead of the short e-mails and phone calls they'd had, telling them that she didn't feel too challenged in most. It was due to that that her previous tutors weren't hired again, with her uncle being the exception. The classes that had covered duelling had been brief and barely practical, skipping over the subject to focus on other areas of magic instead, so she felt like she needed the practice before the winter competition.

The day came quicker than expected. Marinette checked herself into the hotel, kept her wand attached onto the strap on her thigh that she'd kept for years, and entered through the grand doors to settle down in one of the waiting rooms. She was a ball of nervous energy, yet again, and it was only as the rooms filled out with contestants that she ran a hand through her fringe, breathing out a sigh.

Her uncle believed in her, still. Even though she'd slacked off for a few months, enjoying trivial spells and doing homework with others, he said that she was in the same state as she'd been in before.

She wasn't hoping to win, not really. Her making it to the second day the first time for the adult section had been astounding, and perhaps a fluke, so she was worried that she wouldn't get any further than she already had.

The sound of her alias being called was what stopped her worrying.

Marinette audibly swallowed.

A ribbon from her hair had been singed, her knees had bloody scrapes over them, and one of her eyes was swollen shut, but she had her opponent's wand in her hands. Marinette grinned as she walked across the stage, offering a hand out to help them up.

Between the duels and being healed by one of the medical staff, she spaced out. She fiddled with the hem of her dress, the sounds merging together as she couldn't keep her attention focused on the matches. She knew that her family would record the matches for her to watch later, especially the ones that were the most technical and impressive, but she was still trying to make herself notice the habits of her future opponents.

The second duel resulted in further injuries—Marinette had to limp off of the stage, victorious.

The following fights, she had to get herself healed, too. When she flexed her fingers that were no longer broken, she was once more amazed of the feats that magic could reach. She'd only stubbornly refused to reveal her injuries when she was a child, not knowing that they could've been fixed in an instant with the right spells or ingredients in a potion.

She was exhausted by the end of the day, but she made it through to the second day again. It was something she hadn't been expecting, honestly, but she was still proud. She walked tiredly to the hotel afterwards, forgoing the offered dinner where the contestants could wear their masks without being interrogated, and found herself falling asleep immediately as she relaxed on the bed.

It was still night when she woke up.

Marinette stretched with a groan, padding towards the bathroom to take a shower. Afterwards, she dressed in the casual clothes she packed, including a jacket, and ventured outside to see whether a nearby store would still be open and selling food. The hours for dinner had already passed, and she didn't want to want and gorge herself at breakfast, as she would've felt awkward and full during the upcoming duels.

Walking along the streets, admiring the nearby parks and views that the area had to offer, she'd just finished eating and started to take a sip of her drink when she spotted a familiar figure sitting on a bench. It was located a short walk away from the hotel, one in front of an organised display of flowers that attracted tourists during the day, and the tall lights scattered around illuminated the open space.

It was the black mask upon his face that caused her to clench her fist.

There was no mistaking the blond-coloured hair that she'd seen for years.

Chat was there, sitting glumly on a bench as though it was a perfectly natural thing, wearing the same outfit that he'd worn since she'd first seen him at thirteen. He wasn't paying attention to his surroundings, no; instead, he was resting his chin on his palm, elbow on his knee, a casual pose that showed that he didn't feel threatened at all.

She felt hurt at first, honestly.

He—he was there in front of her after almost two years, oblivious to her existence. The concern she'd felt for his disappearance in the beginning had evolved, and combined with Chloé's scathing remarks that if they'd truly been friends, he would've warned her in advance, it became irritation.

But he hadn't.

It was her sudden anger that made her tightly screw the cap back onto her drink, and then she threw it towards him in the heat of the moment, exclaiming, “You stupid _cat_!”

It was Chloé's fault for that—the blonde often referred to him as a cat in an attempt to make Marinette laugh. She'd caught onto the habit, too, whenever they spoke about her previous competitions.

A yelp of surprise left him as it hit the front of his head, and his hands—still clad in the fingerless gloves that she'd admired and _copied—_ went to touch the spot where it had collided. Marinette stalked forward, eyebrows pinched together from her anger, and stopped a few steps in front of him.

She'd forgotten how bright his irides were, even in the lacklustre lighting outside.

“This— _this_ is how I see you again?” Marinette started, voice cracking from the influx of emotions. She was torn between the self-righteous anger and happiness from seeing him again—knowing that he was okay, even after the time apart, was reassuring to her. “I swear, if you competed today and didn't even—”

The hands fell down onto the bench as he looked at her with wide eyes. “I'm sorry,” Chat interrupted her. “Do I know you?”

The welling anger deflated in an instant. Marinette stared back at him, equally shocked as redness flooded her cheeks, and she opened her mouth while trying the right words to explain, but nothing came out.

It—she was such an _idiot_. After seeing him, she'd completely forgotten that he wouldn't recognise her normally, not at all; Chat didn't know what her facial features looked like, and the mask made it so they couldn't be connected, not even if she was standing beside a poster of herself. To him, she was a stranger that had basically assaulted him at night, and had proceeded to stand angrily in front of him.

“I-I'm not here to mug you or anything,” she blurted, moving her hands to emphasise her point. “I mean—that would be pretty stupid, right? You're here for duelling, so why would anyone try and rob you? At least, I _hope_ you're here for duelling, not just walking around the streets in your very specific outfit. Maybe you're planning to do the stealing dressed like that—”

Once more, he interrupted her. “I don't understand.”

She cleared her throat, hands retreating into the sleeves of her jacket. “I'm sorry for hitting you.”

Reaching up to touch the tender spot, Chat replied, “I've never been hit on before, so it was a new experience.”

Bewildered, Marinette could only stare at him for a few seconds before she recovered. “I—hi,” she stuttered, aware that that the embarrassed blush was still present. “I'm Ladybug, and you're a jerk.”

It was his turn to be rendered speechless from the blunt confession. As he stared at her, clearly taken aback, Marinette shifted the weight upon her weight, unsure on how to continue on from there. The plan hadn't been to blurt out her identity if they'd met again, not after he'd left her for a long period of time without any explanation—but he was _there_.

“ _Ladybug_?” he repeated, voice soft and incredulous all at once.

Tucking a stray hair behind her ear, Marinette nodded in confirmation.

With a whisper that she couldn't catch, Chat stood up and swiftly pulled her into a tight hug, one that she hadn't been expecting. Marinette froze awkwardly for a moment before she wrapped her arms around his waist, cheek pressing against the material of his long-sleeved shirt.

He was taller than before—they both were—which meant Marinette came to just below his chin, making it more comfortable for their embrace for the both of them. She held onto his shirt as she pulled back enough to stare up at his masked face, a audible breath escaping her as she saw the large smile that was meant for her.

“I'm supposed to be mad at you,” she mumbled, trying to keep a straight face.

His arms were stilled loosely wrapped around her as he replied, “You have every right to be.”

“You—you were just _gone_ ,” Marinette choked out, knitting her eyebrows together in visible confusion. “I was suddenly the only one there, and I kept staring at the door, expecting you to walk in late.”

He didn't flinch or look away. “I'm sorry,” Chat whispered, sounding vulnerable.

The mask didn't allow her to clearly see his expression, so she had to make assumptions from his visible eyes and lips. From the way the mask moved with his eyes—covering the eyelids when he blinked, something muggle ones wouldn't have been able to do—she had guess what the rest of his features were doing to cause the contortions.

“I—I never meant to leave, not without telling you,” the blond-haired male continued, the cracking of his voice so similar to her own only moments ago. “I'm so sorry for that.”

It wasn't his fault, then. “What happened?” Marinette enquired softly.

“My father found out about what I was doing,” he admitted, a sheepish tone appearing. With a shrug of his shoulders, that she felt from their position, Chat added on, “So, he banned me from entering them for a while. I was basically on house arrest whenever I was home.”

She squinted. “I didn't see you for the summer one.”

“The ban was only lifted recently.” With a sigh, Chat stepped away from her so they were standing face-to-face, shoes almost touching. “What have I missed?”

Blurting the first thing that popped into her mind, Marinette bluntly answered, “Just the underage competition turning to shit. It got even _worse_ after you left.”

“Oh, yes,” he agreed, nodding his head. “I was watching them—you were pretty kickass, by the way.”

The fact that he'd watched them despite not being able to attend meant a lot to her. Marinette beamed, not as self-conscious as she'd thought she'd be without the mask being on while they were interacting. As always, Chat's personality made her feel comfortable and at ease, and he had a charm that made her smile at him fondly.

“Wait,” she said suddenly, confusion clear across her expression. “If—if you're here, then you competed today, right?”

As he raised a hand to run through his blond tresses—a nervous move that he only did when he was put on the spot or feeling awkward—Chat tentatively confirmed, “Yes.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “You should've seen me, then.”

“I did,” he admitted, fiddling with the hairs at the nape of his neck. “I just—I thought you wouldn't want to see me, that's all.”

Moving forward and embracing him tightly, similar to how he'd done to her, Marinette scolded him with, “Of course I want to see you, idiot.” She could feel him stiffen from surprise for a moment before relaxing, loosely returning the hug as he rested his chin upon the top of her head. “I was too busy spacing out to pay attention to everyone else.”

“You still did really good today,” he praised, and she didn't need to look up to know that he was smiling. “You've improved well, Ladybug.”

Cheek against his shirt once more, she corrected, “Marinette.”

“Nice to officially meet you, Marinette,” Chat replied, not stumbling over her name. “Of all the times I've imagined us meeting, a good ninety percent of them were romantic; none had you attacking me, sadly.”

She snorted. “I wouldn't call it _attacking—_ ”

“I have a bruise that says otherwise,” he swiftly interrupted, sniffing loudly afterwards. “I did deserve it, though, so I'll let it slide this time. We should save the violence for the day we finally get to duel against each other.”

When they parted from their hug, Marinette realised in surprise that he'd changed his outfit at the back. From him pointing it out—as she'd always asked him in the past why he never had anything cat-related in his clothing—she saw that a hood was attached onto the top of his shirt, and she burst out laughing when he put it on to reveal the pointed cat ears that were charmed to stick up.

“ _That's_ what you've done in your time away?” she questioned, voice higher-pitched due to the laughter. “You're amazing.”

Making a nose of disapproval, Chat proclaimed, “You're not allowed to make fun of how I spent my time when all you do is keep your nose in a notebook after homework.”

She froze, staring at him in wonder. “How did you—”

“Shit.”

“You're still at _Beauxbatons_?” the dark-haired female questioned, surprise clear in her voice. She thought for sure that he'd aged out, and that was why hadn't appeared for the competition, but that couldn't be the case at all if he knew about her homework. “You—you know me as Marinette, don't you?”

Shuffling awkwardly on the spot, Chat fiddled with his sleeves. “I've seen you around.”

“You didn't even question it when I told you my name,” she pointed out, narrowing her blue-coloured eyes. “That's why you didn't freak out from a stranger shouting at you.”

“Well,” he started, drawing out the vowel as he stalled, “it wasn't really shouting?”

She hit him lightly on the shoulder. “You're a seventh-year!”

“I didn't know it was _you_ ,” Chat defended, shrugging his shoulders half-heartedly. “I—I never even suspected it, to be honest? I know I told you about _Beauxbatons_ , but I never thought you'd actually join.”

The thought that she'd been so close to him for four months without realising it was infuriating, especially since she'd missed him in that time. If only she'd spoken about duelling in the common-room, or perhaps tried to piece together the little pieces of information she knew about his life, but all she'd done was focus on the fact that he'd _left_. There had barely been a moment where she stared at the swarm of students, wondering whether he'd be within them; instead, she'd resigned herself to him having graduated, only available to look for in the photographs that were displayed in albums.

She raised her head to look him in the eyes. “Do I know you?”

“Yes,” he confirmed with a whisper. “You do.”

A lot of students had blond hair and green eyes, even in her year. A lot of them were tall, and she didn't have any distinctive facial features to connect the dots with, making it difficult to theorise, so she decided to enquire instead, “How often do I see you?”

“We're in all the same classes,” Chat admitted quietly. “We talk pretty regularly, too.”

Marinette wrinkled her nose at that. “That could mean anything. What if you're someone I only greet in the mornings to be polite?”

“A lot more than that, Marinette,” he replied with a laugh. “We actually sit next to each other almost daily.”

She blinked.

It made sense, really; the strict father that was only mentioned in passing, the lack of struggling with spells in classes, and the easy-going personality that had made her feel comfortable around him. Marinette was dumbfounded how she'd never suspected it before—but it was the _mask_ that had made her so clueless. With the newfound knowledge, she tried to picture the blond-haired male before her with dimples as he smiled, the blond at the end of his eyelashes, and the curve of his nose that she'd seen for months.

“Adrien,” she breathed, amazed.

He beamed at her. “Guilty.”

A sudden burst of laughter escaped her, the sound honest and abrupt. “Chloé _hates_ you,” she wheezed out between her chortles, wrapping her arms around her middle as she tried to get her laughter under control.

“Wait, what?” Adrien questioned, baffled. “I— _what_?”

He let her get it out of her system. Marinette laughed until her eyes were damp and her emotions were stable, standing up straight afterwards to wipe at her face with a grin. When she looked at him through no longer blurry vision, she tried to see the eyebrows that she knew would be pinched together to match the confusion frown.

She brushed her hair behind her ear. “Chloé hates Chat Noir because he left me.”

“She _knows_?” he enquired, sounding panicked. From the way he shifted on the spot, she had to assume that he really was. “Oh, no.”

Marinette patted him lightly on the shoulder. “She's only planning to punch you, don't worry. She still very much likes you as Adrien.”

“You told her?” Adrien quested, soft and inquisitive.

There was a hidden question there, one that she could've returned back to him—they had both decided not to share, and that had resulted in the time gap of their communications. If she'd known that Chloé's best friend from school that she'd heard about was her best friend, she probably would've applied to attend school much sooner.

That realisation caused her cheeks to colour.

“Chloé saw our last competition together,” she explained, glancing down at her feet instead of at him. “It was a bit awkward because she was praising me a lot without realising it, so I told her. She's come along to each one since—I think she's probably fuming right now because she saw you.”

She hadn't checked her messages after falling asleep, so it was entirely possible.

“Oh,” Adrien breathed, stumped for what to say. After a few moments of the two of them simply standing there, hovering in front of the bench in the darkness, he started quietly, “If you're Ladybug—”

Marinette cut in with, “If I ask you for our customary dinner tomorrow, will that convince you I am?”

“Yes.” He laughed, a wonderful sound that she hadn't realised she'd been around for months. “That means you—you're a genius and you haven't even told anyone at school.”

Shifting the weight upon her feet, she awkwardly answered, “Why would I? I'm already standing out enough due to being new.”

“The professors never mentioned anything,” the blond-haired male pointed out, sounding thoughtful. “Was that arranged beforehand?”

“No,” she admitted. “They did that by themselves—I think my parents warned them that I'm not fond of the label that it gets me.”

With a laugh, he exclaimed, “You created a spell when you were _eight_ , Marinette. Anyone would call you a genius for that.”

“All I did was tweak one of my family's spells,” she protested.

Adrien sighed. “You're too modest.”

It was late in the evening, and it was growing cold. Those were the main factors for the two of them walking back to the hotel, even though they could've cast a charm to keep warm and stay outside for the foreseeable future. He'd only suggested going back inside after she'd yawned twice, so with a small smile, she agreed and walked beside him as they filled each other in on the time that they'd been apart.

Adrien walked her to her room.

The following morning, after she'd dressed in her duelling outfit, put on the enchanted mask, and tied her hair into the signature buns, she was surprised to see him waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall.

“Hey,” Adrien greeted her, raising up a glove-clad to wave. The hood with the cat ears was on his head, the golden-coloured strands of hair sticking out from underneath it. “That was good timing. I've only been here for a few minutes.”

She blinked. “But you're bad at waking up in the mornings.”

With a laugh, he corrected her, “Not when I'm excited for a competition.”

The flow of their conversation during breakfast was normal; knowing that Chat, the one that she'd always thought radiated friendliness, was one of her closest friends at school made it easier to connect the two identities together. That didn't mean she could easily imagine Adrien's facial features while the black mask was on him—he was probably in the same predicament with her, as he kept glancing at her while they were eating, and looking away when she caught him.

“You ready for this?” Marinette questioned, adjusting her gloves as they walked towards the grand entrance of where the competition was held. With the newly acquired knowledge that he was competing, she wondered whether he'd struggled with his duels the previous day, like she had. “I haven't seen you duel for years now, you know.”

Adrien pointed out, “That doesn't mean I've been slacking.”

Being able to make it to the second day after a long absence proved that, too. “Do you know if L'Imposteur or any of the others are here?”

He shook his head, leading her to believe that he'd spelled the hood to stay up. “No. I checked the website beforehand, too—either none of them qualified or they just aren't interested in this any more.”

“That's a shame,” she said wistfully. “They were great to watch.”

Grinning, Adrien reached out and patted her on the top of her head lightly. “I'll be sure to give you a great show, then.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You're awfully cocky.”

“Well,” he started, a breath of amusement escaping him. “This cool girl that transferred to my school turned out to be one of my best friends, so I'm feeling confident.”

When he was called before her, it was clear that he wasn't overly confident for no reason. Adrien had quick reflexes, was able to shield most of the harmful spells that were sent his way, and when he was given the opportunity to injure her opponent, he chose smoothly winning over it, showing a trait that he hadn't grown out of.

Marinette held her fist up with a wide smile when he walked back into the waiting room.

He didn't hesitate before tapping his knuckles against hers.

As she stood up after her alias was called to the stage, Adrien spoke up with, “Good luck out there, Ladybug.”

She knew that Chloé and members of her family were in the crowd, cheering for her, but it was the first time in a while that someone else was, too. Marinette nodded, unsure on how to reply, and walked through the doors with a ridiculous smile that didn't suit the atmosphere of the room.

As always, she did her non-generic bow to her opponent before the match officially started.

Panting, she managed to sway the duel in her favour when she conjured water onto the floor a few minutes prior, quickly turning the liquid into ice when she rolled out of the way of an incoming spell. It was something her uncle had been teaching her to do for years—which she had been unsuccessful, and sometimes only one part of the water was slightly frozen—and she felt triumphant when her opponent slipped over due to it.

She collected their wand with a wide smile.

Adrien greeted her with the customary bump of their fists, and when he came back after winning his following duel, she hugged him after he'd been healed by the medical staff.

Although she was eliminated on her third match, she was proud.

Adrien, however, managed to make it to third place with his quick thinking and fast reflexes. The black fabric of his outfit was darkened in patches from blood, his hair was out of place, but the hood was still upon his head when he was asked to come back onto the stage after the winners had been announced.

For third place, he won a large amount of money and an actual medal that he was told to wear around his neck for photographs. He had to pose in front of cameras with the other two winners, standing there awkwardly as he didn't know what to with his hands, and it was only when he caught her eye that his smile grew wider.

When he was asked whether he'd like to reveal his age and occupation, Adrien shook his head. “I'm only good at duelling, that's all,” he explained, the hand that usually ran through his hair instead connecting with his hood, confusing him for a moment before it dropped down to his side. “I'm pretty mediocre at everything else.”

After sending a message to her family saying that she was going to have a meal with a friend, and persuading Chloé not to barge in with threats (which was quite a feat), she found herself walking outside with Adrien beside her, still clad in his duelling outfit. They received a few looks on the street, from those who clearly didn't know about the tournament, but she was too busy laughing and smiling to be bothered by them.

They chose a colourful diner.

As they looked through the laminated menu on the table, deciding whether to order only desserts to congratulate him for winning, Marinette mused, “I never thought I'd be having dinner with you alone, honestly.”

The mask raised, meaning his eyebrows had, too. “No?”

“No,” she confirmed, putting her elbows on the table. “I always thought that when it dwindled down to just us two, you wouldn't want to.”

He snorted. “That's silly. I would've had dinner alone with you the first time we met.”

Surprised at the casual admittance, Marinette could only reply, “That's really not safe for you. I could've been a murderer or something.”

“M—Ladybug,” Adrien stumbled, correcting himself with a smile. He reached up and removed the hood that had been secured on his head for a good ten hours, fiddling with his newly freed hair. “You were smaller than me and looked like a scared animal.”

“A scared animal who made a spell at age eight, so I could've kicked your ass,” she muttered, rolling her eyes affectionately. “Stop teasing me and help pick what we're going to eat.”

They did eventually agree to gorge on desserts. The bowls and plates were in the middle of the table for them to share, and Marinette almost choked on her drinks from one of his jokes partway through. While he tried to look innocent, she retaliated by eating all of one dessert that he'd been eyeing for a while.

The dramatic gasp that escaped him with worth it.

She smiled smugly.

It was nice, truly. The dinners with her family and Chloé couldn't have made up for what she had been sued to with the other contestants, but sitting across from just Adrien turned out to be just as amusing. They weren't told off for being too loud, thankfully, and neither of them attempted to order alcohol (like some of the older ones had), but it felt natural—as normal as their interactions had school had started to become, once she'd gotten used to his friendly personality.

When she'd pictured a dinner alone with him before, her stomach clenched uncomfortably from imagining it. Yet, as she laughed until her eyes grew damp, she wondered whether it was the additional information of their identities that was making it so easy-going for the two of them.

As she sipped her warm drink, Marinette remarked, “I never noticed you getting special treatment in classes like you mentioned before.”

From the way he shuffled in his seat, she wondered whether he was embarrassed. “That's because I kind of stormed out last year when the professor left everything up to me,” he admitted. “I ended up going to the headmaster and everything, but I only got one detention out of it.”

“Everything?” she parroted, curious.

He sighed. “I had to demonstrate the spell and help everyone with it while the professor searched through the textbook.”

“One time too many, then?”

“Definitely,” Adrien agreed, shaking his head slightly. “It just seems that as soon as we're learning any spell that my father's known for, everyone expects me to be able to replicate it. It's so _frustrating_.”

For a moment, her mind drew a blank. She furrowed her eyebrows as she tried to recall what his father's name was, or even remember whether her uncle had fought anyone that had looked similar to the male in front of her. As it was, she couldn't even remember his surname, as she hadn't cared much about that while trying to remember her class-mates names. All she knew was that Adrien had a famous father who might've looked similar to him.

His voice interrupted her trail of thought. “What are you thinking about there? You've been staring at that plate for almost a minute now.”

She was glad he couldn't see her blush beneath the mask. “Sorry,” she offered sheepishly. “I just realised I have absolutely no idea who your father is.”

The laugh that escaped him with abrupt. “That's even better than that ridiculous medal I won.”

“I don't even know your surname,” Marinette bemoaned, pushing the plates away from her so she could rest her arms on the table, placing her forehead on top in an exaggerated fashion. “How bad is that? I'm a terrible friend.”

“I didn't know one of my best friend's name until she hit me with a bottle, so we're even,” Adrien countered, reaching out and patting her teasingly on the head. “I like how clueless you are, genius.”

Pushing his hand off, she looked up at him with narrowed eyes. “That sounds a lot more sarcastic than usual.”

He sniffed. “How rude.”

They stayed until the diner was closing and a waiter had to wander over and asked them to leave soon. It was well past midnight when they ventured outside—later than their unplanned meeting the previous day—and she hoped her parents would be fine with her being out so late; they'd been surprisingly okay with it when she was younger, though it had never ventured onto the next day before.

Walking towards one of the travel-houses together—that never closed, thankfully—Marinette was momentarily startled by something brushing against her glove-clad hand.

A glance to her side showed Adrien staring forward instead of at her. She smiled as she easily clasped his hand in hers, grinning wider as she saw the one that had blossomed on his face. It had been so shy and tentative, something that she hadn't fully connected to the bright and happy personality of his, but that was what had made her appreciate him more.

She wondered how he'd look in the familiar clothes without the mask; to see the way his cheeks moved to meet his eyes when he smiled, along with the dimples, the splashes of blond on the end of his eyelashes, and even the curve of his nose that was disguised. There was so many ways to connect him to the energetic new friend she'd made from school, but the mask made it blurry.

“Chat Noir,” she said suddenly, interrupting the silence where they'd only loosely held hands for a few minutes. As he turned to look at her, tilting his head slightly in an inquisitive way, Marinette continued on to ask, “You're not going to be a stranger at school to me, are you?”

A small smile appeared on his lips. “Would you want me to be?”

“I've been sitting beside you for four months without realising it,” the dark-haired female pointed out. “I'm happy with whatever you're comfortable with.”

“Well, in that case,” Adrien started, sounding amused. “I'll be waiting to escort you to classes every morning, my lady.”

She blinked.

“But you're terrible at waking up,” Marinette insisted, knowing the times that he'd arrived late to meals over the weeks. Then, she looked at him with an accusatory stare as she realised how he'd ended his sentence. “I hoped you'd grown out of the nicknames.”

He grinned. “They're pet names, actually, and reserved for only my use.”

As she tried to keep a straight face, her lips twitched. “It's only fair that I call you something in return, then.”

“I believe you called me something when you threw that bottle,” Adrien pointed out, the hand that was holding her squeezing lightly. “When did I acquire that lovely pet name?”

The blush wasn't visible to him. “When Chloé started to refer to you as a cat instead of a human being,” she returned matter-of-factly. “It kind of caught on.”

“I can't tell whether to be offended or not,” he announced with a laugh. “Does this mean you're going to be calling me a cat from now on?”

Her eyes flickered to the hood. “Only when you're in this outfit. I can't go around calling you kitty at school without judging looks.”

“You don't know that yet.” Adrien snickered. “Some might be accepting of it.”

Tightening her hand around his, she shot back, “Let's not find out. I'm already the new kid.”

The grin on his face only widened when she glared up at him, their arms brushing from the close distance. “Sorry to tell you this, but you're the new kid until we've graduated,” the blond stated in a purposely regretful tone, contradicting his expression. “It does come with some positives, though; you could arrive late to classes without being reprimanded.”

“I think that would've only worked on my first week,” she muttered.

“If it helps, you're mostly referred to as Chloé's best friend,” he mused. “Wait—that means you stole my title.”

Childishly, she stuck her tongue out. “That's what you get for your disappearing act. Imagine what you'll be demoted to when Chloé finds out who you really are.”

“You make it sound like Chat Noir is my alter ego.”

She shrugged. “Isn't he? You get to escape your father's name—that you won't even tell me—and I get to not be compared to my uncle. It's freedom for the both of us, isn't it?”

“Maybe so,” he agreed, the two of them stopping outside the doors of the travel-house. “You're—you're not disappointed that I'm me, are you?” Adrien questioned, voice as soft and quiet, so much so that she wouldn't have been able to hear it if others had been chattering around them.

The lighting was dim, but she could see the colour of his eyes, and the way it caused the light shade of his hair to shine. From the curve of his eyes from the mask, and the smile that didn't have the usual dimples, the restricted view didn't stop her from appreciating him. Marinette smiled, sure that he was just as frustrated from the lack of detail in her facial features, and slipped her fingers between his, feeling the material of his gloves as he did so.

“Why would I be?” she questioned tentatively, staring up at him from where they were stood still outside the doors. “You were my first friend; you helped me interact with others, and I've admired you for years. I think it's only fitting that I also think the same after meeting you all over again.”

A small smile appeared. “Admired?”

“Admired,” she confirmed, her grin meeting her eyes. She purposely held up her free hand, pointedly wiggling the fingers as she said, “I thought you were really cool with your gloves.”

An audible breath of amusement left him. “Were?”

Marinette tucked the loose hairs behind her ear. “The illusion of your coolness kind of shattered when I found out you're terrible at going to bed early, but you're still pretty great.”

“Do you want to know something ironic?” he questioned, the corners of his eyes crinkling, the mask moving to cover any skin. At the small nod of her head, barely moving as she kept eye contact, Adrien continued softly, “I've kind of had a crush on you for years.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Can you blame me?” He shrugged half-heartedly. “You always look so calm and collected while duelling, then you're just so shy afterwards. It's incredibly endearing.”

Despite the sudden beating of her heart—a nervous fluttering that she hadn't associated with her feelings before—Marinette quietly pointed out, “That's the appeal of the mask; you can't tell whether I'm blushing because of it, let alone if I'm quivering in fear.”

“That's where you're wrong,” Adrien retorted, bumping his shoulder lightly against hers. “Whenever a professor asks you to demonstrate a spell, you're just as confident.”

“Well, yeah,” she said, reaching up to touch the nape of her neck awkwardly. “I've already studied those before, so—”

He laughed. “You haven't asked me what the ironic part of my admiration is yet.”

“Oh?”

For a moment, she wondered what it would've been like to be more than friends with him; their relationship had changed in the past few hours, more honest and heartfelt than it had been before, and she wasn't disappointed or worried due to the sudden shift. Knowing that she could see him almost daily for a good portion of the year, to be there to share more than a celebratory dinner, was something she'd idly thought about between the downtime of the competitions.

To think that she'd celebrated his birthday without knowing his exact age was something else, too. Marinette had always felt close to Chat, and to know that he was Adrien, her blond-haired class-mate who barely acknowledged personal space, was something she was happy for.

“I started to like you as—well, _you_ , too,” he confessed with an awkward laugh. “Isn't that ridiculous?”

A wide grin spread across her lips. “It's pretty sweet, actually.”

“I'm cursed to like you in all your identities,” Adrien announced, smile reaching his eyes as he looked down at her. “Will that be a problem for you?”

Swinging their interlocked hands, she shyly replied, “I'm holding your hand, aren't I?”

He huffed. “That's pretty ambiguous; _friends_ hold hands all the time. I think I've even seen you holding Chloé's at some point—”

“Well, it's not like you asked to date me,” she pointed out, aware of the warmth that had appeared underneath her mask. “You sound like you've just reserved yourself to liking me and doing nothing about it.”

It was his turn to blink. “I didn't think you'd be interested.”

“Why?”

“I—I don't know?” he started, voice becoming higher-pitched than usual. “You said before that—that you never thought we'd even eat dinner with just the two of us, and that sounds very much like a date. I mean, you're probably holding my hand right now while expecting nothing to happen between us.”

As unusual as it was for him to ramble—it was usually a trait that was reserved for Marinette, especially when they were clad in their duelling outfits—she interrupted him with, “How about asking me how I feel instead of assuming, kitty?”

With his widened eyes, Marinette watched as he visibly struggled to find the right words. After a few moments of opening his mouth and not, Adrien cleared his throat. “Do you—do you want to go on a date with me?”

The stuttering only made her smile more. “Are you not counting this as one?”

“Absolutely not,” he replied, squeezing her hand. “Our victory dinners are a sacred tradition. We can't just turn them into dates now.”

“Okay.” She nodded her head. “So, there'll be no kissing for our next one, and definitely no holding of hands. If they're sacred, we shouldn't taint them with romance.”

With a wide grin, Adrien questioned, “Romance?”

Tilting her head slightly to the side, Marinette coyly replied, “Well, that's what happens when you're dating someone, right?”

She watched as he swallowed. “Dating.”

It was utterly endearing how he was reacting to her. From the shuffling of his feet, touching his hair, and even the stuttering, she wondered whether her nervous tendencies appeared appealing to him, too. If this was how she felt from seeing him stuck for words due to her actions, she only hoped that when she was in a similar situation that he thought the same.

“You—you should really get home before your parents start to worry about you,” Adrien started, gesturing to the travel-house with his free hand. “We're already out later than we ever have been before.”

She hummed in agreement. “Is your father waiting up for you now he knows what you're doing?”

The laugh that sounded wasn't genuine. “No, definitely not. He's travelling currently, so I'm spending the holidays alone.”

Surprised at that admission, as she couldn't imagine a life where her family didn't support her, Marinette whispered, “You could've stayed at school.”

“I wouldn't have been able to win third place, then,” he pointed out, mask moving to indicate raised eyebrows. “And I wouldn't have gotten to see you again—just thinking of how oblivious I could've been all of next year makes me frustrated.”

She tapped at her mask. “The feeling's mutual.”

“I guess the next time I'll see you is at school,” Adrien murmured.

“Yes,” she confirmed as they walked through the doors inside, the lights flickering on automatically to illuminate the various fireplaces scattered around. “Is there anything you really want as a gift, by the way? I haven't gone shopping for them yet.”

He blinked. “Me neither.”

“We—we could go together?” she suggested, looking up at him shyly. “You have my number to contact me whenever you're free.”

With the promise of arranging a date—she had to put emphasis on that word, just to see him smile wider—Marinette stood on her toes as she surprised him with a kiss on his cheek before disentangling their hands, purposely walking towards one of the exits. Waving as a good-bye, Marinette was still grinning once she was on the other side.

She wondered whether he blushed.

-x-

Throughout the break, which was three weeks, she saw Chloé the most out of her new friends. The blonde came over some days just to lounge around as they flicked through the television channels, unsure on what to do with their time. She didn't see Alya or Nino, but her constant messages with Adrien filled up any of the time when she was alone.

They agreed to meet up a week before they were due back at school. It was a simple day of trailing through the cobbled streets of the shopping district, trying to decide together on what to buy for their friends, and they only parted for half an hour to buy presents for each other.

When he kissed her cheek as they said good-bye, his smile was smug.

Chloé insisted on her driver taking them to the gates of the school once more. The uniform didn't feel as awkward to dress in as it had the first time, and she wasn't worried over trivial thing (such as how many buttons the average student had done up on their blazers). They dropped their suitcases off at the front again, walking towards the dining hall to sit and await for the rest of the school to arrive.

As always, they were some of the first to arrive. Chloé preferred it that way.

Alya was the second to arrive, sighing in exasperation as she complained about the queues from the fireplaces. It turned out that some of the first-years had been terrified of using it, as they hadn't before they started their schooling, and it had caused a commotion due to the delay.

Adrien and Nino walked in together after almost half an hour, talking animatedly as they came closer. Adrien grinned widely when he spotted her, raising a hand and waving enthusiastically, much to the bemusement of Nino.

After Nino purposely ruffled Alya's hair—which made her swat his hand away—they told each other what they did over the break, and as she made eye contact with Adrien, Marinette raised her eyebrows in a silent question of whether they were going to tell them. From the sudden shake of his head as he peered at Chloé, she decided it was a wise choice for the time being, as the blonde-haired female had grumbled and protested the involvement of Chat Noir back in her life so suddenly.

The headmaster greeted everyone back, inviting them all to tuck into the food that appeared across the tables. It was afterwards as they were going towards their common-room that they decided it was a good time to exchange presents, so they collected them from their suitcases and met back downstairs by the sofa that Chloé had stayed to reserve.

Marinette burst into laughter when she opened Chloé's present to reveal a book on duelling techniques. Alya and Nino looked at her with a confused expression, even more so when it was revealed how expensive the book was to get a hold of, but the wink that Chloé gave her was worth it.

“Do I really want to open this?” Marinette questioned, staring at the extravagant ribbon that had been wrapped around the gift from Adrien—it was something she would've expected from her other blonde friend, not him. “It's a gift to look at already.”

He huffed. “I didn't do the bow, okay? I did the wrapping, but one of my father's friends obviously thought it wasn't good enough to match the tag with your name on it, so they did this.”

“And you can't undo it,” she concluded, lips curling into a smile. “You really aren't good at charms, are you?”

A gasp sounded from Alya—clearly one where she was about to jump to his defence—but Adrien laughed instead. “I'm only good at being charming, sorry.”

She snorted. “I'm sure.”

“Hey, you can't deny it,” he replied, bumping his shoulder against hers lightly on the sofa. “How about you open the present before you start judging me?”

When she unwrapped the gift, she made sure to keep the bow in tact and placed it onto his lap. Adrien's disgruntled expression made her laugh, even more so when he knocked it away from him purposely. Curiously, she picked up the black clothes of some sort that were folded into a pile, unfolding them and holding it up to see.

“You _didn't_ ,” Marinette gasped, trying to hold back her laughter as she inspected the t-shirt.

He sounded smug as he replied, “I don't know what you're talking about.”

It was a long-sleeved t-shirt with a hood attached to the back, complete with the cat ears that he'd given himself previously. Clearly, he'd altered and attached it himself, but the thought and the meaning of it between the two of them was what made her smile.

“I love it,” she proclaimed, putting it on hastily over the top of her dress. The blazers were regularly discarded after classes in favour of a more casual look, though she was too lazy to change into normal clothing unless it was the weekend. Marinette inspected the sleeves that were too long, so she had to push them up to her wrists, pleased with the softness of the fabric.

Adrien reached up and adjusted her hood. “It suits you.”

“Thank you,” Marinette exclaimed, enthusiastically wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him into a tight hug. It wasn't like the emotional one they'd shared for minutes on end outside of the hotel back when they'd first found out about each other; rather, it was filled with warmth and feelings that she hadn't connected to him until recently.

She was positive that he could see a blush with the mask gone.

The clearing of a throat made them pull away from each other.

Chloé was sat beside them on an armchair, arms crossed and eyebrows raised as her gaze darted between the two of them. “What's going on here?” she questioned, sounding displeased.

Marinette reached up to touch one of the ears on her head, weakly replying, “Presents?”

“Right.” It sounded sarcastic, especially when paired with the position of her arms. “Adrien just so happens to get you a present similar to that _jerk_? And you're all touchy-feely, too.”

“I—” Marinette stuttered, faltering. “I invited him to watch?”

That made Chloé's eyes widen, while Nino and Alya looked at each other in confusion, clearly not understand the context. “You told him without telling me?” Chloé exclaimed, voice higher-pitched than usual as she turned her narrow-eyed gaze towards the blonde-haired male. “What did he do to deserve to know that?”

As she tried to think of the right words to explain without giving away Adrien's secret, she was stumped, running a frustrated hand through her hair. “We're friends?”

“ _We_ were friends and you didn't tell me for years!”

“I knew before you, kind of,” Adrien pitched in, sounding a lot calmer than she felt. “I—fuck, I mean—”

Chloé looked unimpressed. “You've known each other for, like, four months.”

Touching his neck nervously, he stuttered, “Well, it's more like five years?”

“What?” she asked, voice flat and disbelieving.

Adrien's smile was sheepish. “I'm Chat Noir? Please, don't hit me.”

Multiple expressions flashed across her face before she settled with being angry. Chloé stood up abruptly, her footsteps loud as she went towards the staircase in the direction of their dorm-room, purposely ignoring the calls of her name as she left.

“She'll be fine,” Alya remarked, still looking lost. “She just—she has to cool down sometimes to see sense.”

It took a few hours for Chloé to open up; well, it was when Marinette had settled into bed and tried to go to sleep, only for her curtains to open for her to see the blonde-haired female there, clad in her pyjamas with a displeased expression, still. The apology that followed was sincere, but Marinette asked for forgiveness, too, for not telling her that she'd made up with Adrien completely after his disappearance.

Chloé proceeded to refer to him as a cat a lot the following morning's breakfast, but when she was asked what she meant by it by class-mates, she shrugged her shoulders and kept the explanation to herself (much like she'd done with Marinette's secrets, too).

From Adrien's fond laugh, it seemed that he wasn't annoyed by it.

When they were in their common-room before classes started after lunch, Adrien took out his cell phone, loading a video of him duelling from the most recent tournament. He showed it to Alya and Nino both, looking embarrassed as they connected the dots.

He wasn't revealing to them about her, though. Adrien glanced at her from the corner of his eyes, a small smile on his lips, and shrugged slightly.

“Can I have that a moment?” Marinette questioned, accepting the device when it was passed to her. She looked through the websites videos to find one of herself quickly, recognising it as the one where she'd won with the ice. As she passed it back to the couple, she shyly pointed out, “That's me, by the way.”

Chloé sighed from beside her. “Now you're just letting everyone know.”

“They're your friends, aren't they?” she replied, raising her eyebrows. “I'm trusting them because you've told me about them through the years.”

“Yes,” the blonde replied begrudgingly. “But you've neglected to tell me that you've known Adrien for that long.”

Shaking her head, Marinette pointed out, “That's because I never knew it was Adrien, remember? I only found out because I kind of ran into him while taking a walk since I missed dinner.”

“Ran into?” Adrien snorted. “If that's what you want to call it.”

She kicked him lightly. “Shut up.”

“She savagely attacked me, Chloé,” he continued dramatically, slumping back against the sofa. “I still have the bruises to this very day.”

“Adrien, you were healed after almost every match,” Marinette retorted. “Stop trying to gain sympathy. You're lucky that Chloé hasn't punched you yet.”

Chloé perked up at that, smile widening to show her teeth. “Yes, that sounds like a good idea. After all, what kind of person wouldn't tell their best friend since childhood that they've basically joined a juvenile fight club?”

He laughed at that.

They returned to their classes after that, and the professors started to scold Marinette and Adrien for talking too often, something that caused her to feel nervous because she wasn't used to being reprimanded in front of others. Adrien smoothly apologised for them both, with a insincere promise not to do it again, only for the two of them to be told off a few minutes later when she couldn't hold in her laughter at one of his jokes.

It was how she'd always imagined it would be if she went to school with Chat Noir.

After dinner, they stayed in the common-room to do homework together before departing to their bedrooms. As Marinette stretched her arms with a satisfied sigh, Adrien gently caught onto her wrist and asked her to stay for a few for minutes since their friends had just disappeared up to bed.

She blinked. “Okay.”

With a promise of being back quickly, Adrien disappeared up the stairs into his dorm-room, returning a few minutes later with a smaller present than before, wrapped in the same paper but without the obnoxious bow.

“I wanted to give you this in private,” he announced shyly, sitting down beside. “I hope that's okay?”

She wetted her lips. “It's fine, but—but I don't have anything else for you.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “I already loved your gift, Marinette. This is just something extra that would've caused some weird questions yesterday.”

Accepting it, she carefully unwrapped it like before. It was smaller, but the black fabric that was inside revealed that it was another piece of clothing. Marinette looked at him surprise when she picked up the two fingerless gloves, realising almost immediately that they were the same design that he always wore for competitions.

“They're naturally resilient to a lot of harmful spells, so the material's one of the best for duelling clothes,” Adrien readily explained, gesturing for her to try them on. “A lot of people try and wear a whole outfit made out of it, but it ends up looking like some kinky bodysuit that freaks me out, honestly.”

Flexing her newly-covered hand, Marinette remarked, “I think my uncle's shoes are made out of this.”

“Probably. It's ridiculously common to try and blast each other's toes off,” he replied, sounding amused. “If you're caught in a tight spot, you can try and deflect a spell with your hand. It's really useful if you dropped your wand or aren't in the condition to cast a shield.”

The positives were appealing and the material felt nice on her skin—not at all like the common fabric that she'd had on her own—but all she could blurt out was, “We have matching gloves.”

His grin widened. “Well, we're a team, right? We've never even had a single fight between us.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That's only because we've never been selected against each other.”

“They didn't want to break up our friendship,” Adrien steadily answered, bumping his shoulder gently against hers. “Ladybug and Chat Noir, partners in crime.”

“Wouldn't your name be first?” she questioned, a curl curling on her lips.

He winked. “I'm more than happy to put you first, my lady.”

Laughing, she shook her head fondly. There was so many things about him that she appreciated, but his happy presence was one of her favourite things; even from back when they were little, with him barely taller than her tiny frame. Adrien was just a positive person, and his smiles were infectious.

“I can give you your other gift now, if you want,” Marinette started softly, tucking a strand of her behind her ear.

Raising his eyebrows, Adrien questioned, “I thought you didn't get me anything else?”

“Well, I've thought of one now,” she retorted, no heat to her words. “Close your eyes.”

With an audible breath of amusement, the blond-haired male complied to her request. Marinette shifted from where she was sitting to move closer to him, their thighs brushing against each other as she did so. Shyly, she reached out and touched his neck, her thumb trailing lightly against his jawline, and she was surprised that he didn't flinch away.

He allowed her to tilt his head down without complaint. She let their noises touch for a moment, giving him a chance to move away or reject her, before she closed her own eyes as she gently pressed her lips against his.

It was soft and clumsy at first. Marinette was slow and tentative, and as he started to respond, she didn't jump one of his hands settled on her waist—she leaned into him, clutching onto the front of his shirt while she fiddled with the hairs at the nape of his neck, their equally unsure movements matching each other.

She was aware of the sound of her pulse echoing in her head, the feel of his warm breath that fanned across her face, and the pleasant touch of his lips all once. It was a wonderful combination all at once, and combined with hearing his own shaking breaths that matched hers, it made her feel—she was _comfortable_.

There wasn't the terrifying nervousness that made her palms sweaty, nor was uncertain on being with him. Adrien had always been welcoming and warm, a positive presence in her life, and at that moment, she didn't feel pressured at all.

Their teeth clashed against each other clumsily at some points, and her laughter was muffled by their kiss. She could feel the curve of his smile at that, and she was sure that he could feel hers, too.

They were only startled and pulled away when someone pointedly cleared their throat behind them.

Marinette flushed, returning her hands to her own body and wiping at her mouth hastily.

“ _Really_?” Chloé was there, arms crossed with a face of disapproval and narrowed eyes. “Is there anything else you two have to tell me?”

Adrien cleared his throat. “We're dating?”

Hiding her face in her hands, Marinette let out an embarrassed sigh.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://xiueryn.tumblr.com) ♥(❁´◡`❁)


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